All I Have To Do Is Dream
by lnkmstr10
Summary: It's not normal – or healthy – to pine for the unconscious world, but I'm unable to control it. Or myself.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but my own randomness and attempt at creating a Spashley happy ending. All the characters of SoN belong to Tom Lynch and The-N. Any reference to any person, place, or thing is purely for entertainment purposes.

_**A/N**: Wow, it's an honor to be back presenting a new story, also my third novel-ish fic for SoN. A big, big, **big!** thank you to all of the awesome people who have read this story, added it and/or me as their favorite, and most of all, to those who have taken the time to review. I wasn't planning on posting as soon as I am, but honestly, it feels way longer haha. Anyway, enough rambling. I now leave you with the prologue/first chapter of _Realize What I Just Realized_. _

_**P.S**. This is all in Ashley's PoV, though I'm sure you would have figured that out quickly._

* * *

**_-Prologue-_**

I hate Spencer Carlin!

Okay, so hate may be a_ little_ harsh. I think it's a strong...dislike mixed with a hint of something that I'm not quite able to put my finger on.

She is beautiful, in every sense of the word and, really, it isn't fair.

Spencer has perfect blonde hair that never seems to have any hair out of place. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of blue, her face flawless.

Her clothes, though modest in comparison to most the girls at school, fit nicely on her small frame. And that, I think, makes me dislike her even more. Pretty, modest people have no place here. Not to mention that she is incredibly smart, almost in that in-your-face kind of way.

She's the type of girl who managed to get every good gene possible. I'll even go as far to say that she can sing and dance, though I've never seen any proof. Still, it wouldn't surprise me.

So why do I hate Spencer Carlin?

Some would say I'm jealous because of all the things I mentioned, but I'm not. I'm just very observant and a little annoyed that her gene pool is so stacked, when some people (who most definitely are not me) get the short end of the stick.

No, you know the real reason I can't stand Spencer Carlin?

It's because she makes it so I can't hate her, no matter how much I'd like to. And until much later, I wouldn't know why that was.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Cheerleaders. The one thing I hate more than Spencer Carlin.

I don't see how they claim to bring pep to the school when all they bring me is unwarranted misery.

Ok, so maybe it's not completely unwarranted. Maybe every once in a while I might let one_ little_ smart ass comment slip, but they totally deserve it.

It almost makes me gag when I think about how I used to be one. You know, before I discovered my brain.

And I'll never understand how their inch long skirts qualify as dress code appropriate, though I'm sure that has to do with the majority vote from the male staff members.

So now here I sit, bored to death in whatever class I have at eight. I don't know the name of it, just which room it is. I think the Dean had a good laugh when he put me in a class with 80% of the cheerleaders, one Spencer Carlin included. Definitely a fun first day discovering that.

"Mrs. Baker," a sickly sweet voice interrupts the quiet classroom, "we have to leave early for the pep rally."

I can practically hear everyone roll their eyes. Madison Duarte is such a suck up bitch, we all know it. Hell, she even knows it, and couldn't care less.

"We being the cheerleaders," Madison explains unnecessarily, looking around the class as if she expects some one else to claim the same thing.

I roll my eyes again. "Aw, really?" I cry out, my sarcasm heavy, "why not the rest of us?"

"Ms. Dav-"

"Because some of us deserve special treatment," Madison spits back, all false cheerfulness gone.

"I hardly think pity counts as special treatment," I retort." Despite both of us being irritated, I know we both get some perverse pleasure from our bitch fests.

"Is that what keeps your mom from leaving? Or is it the trust fund?" And with that Madison hurdles right over the line, sending me a triumphant smile. Mrs. Baker has given up any hopes of calming us down, and is just as entranced as the rest of the class.

"No, I believe that would be your dad screwing her that keeps her here. But what do I know?" I give a shrug. "Maybe that's why she stays home now. It would definitely make me want to stay in."

"That's quite enough, Ms. Davies!" Mrs. Baker's voice suddenly comes in with confidence.

"It's not her fault, Mrs. Baker," Madison jumps in, her voice sweet again. I raise my eyebrows at her. "She just can't keep her mouth closed, at least from what everyone has said." Ah, that's the Madison I know..

Mrs. Baker shakes her head disapprovingly. "Just go to the pep rally, Madison." I notice that her voice doesn't hold any of the frustration that it did when she was addressing me. Makes me sick.

Madison nods respectfully and gathers her things, making sure to be as loud and disruptive as possible. "Like mother like daughter," she whispers to me, ugly face contorted into smugness. She's not really ugly, but it's much more fun to pretend that she is.

The Latina trips over my foot that was 'accidentally' right in her path. "Oops, _mi malo Maddie_. You better be more careful, wouldn't want you hurt for the pep rally." I offer her a sweet smile.

Giving me a death glare and a dramatic sigh, Madison beckons the other cheerleaders and leaves class. "_Adios Maddie_!"

I never knew I'd be so thankful for taking Spanish. Not that I am in any way fluent, but that makes it even more fun because Madison likes to pretend that English is her second language, so I never hesitate to use my limited Spanish to piss her off.

She quickly turns around and sends me my most hateful glare to-date before stomping out of the classroom. My smile slowly fades and I slouch back in my chair, disappointed that my entertainment is now gone.

"Ms. Carlin?" I look up as I hear the familiar name. I look around in interest, eyes landing on Spencer. "Shouldn't you be gone as well?"

Spencer bites her lip shyly, almost looking embarrassed. I'd find it funny if I actually believed the innocent act. I mean she walks around in a mini-skirt...how innocent can she be?

"Well I," she coughs to clear her throat, seeming nervous. "I wanted to get the notes."

I'm sure I'm staring at her incredulously. Who voluntarily chooses to miss a pep rally? Not that I like them, but when the alternative is class, it's an easy choice.

"Go ahead, Ms. Carlin," Mrs. Baker assures her sweetly. "You can get the notes from-" she stops to look around the classroom.

I immediately lose interest and go back to doodling on my notebook, intent on finishing my caricature of the nerdy kid who sits beside me.

"Ms. Davies."

My head snaps up. "What?" I see Spencer giving me an unsure look and I quickly put it together. You have to be shitting me. Does she not see me spend every class crumpling up paper to hurl at Madison?

"You will give Spencer her notes." What ever happened to democracy?

"What!" I repeat, this time in outrage. "That's…" I cut myself off. I somehow doubt that the word 'bull shit' is classroom appropriate. "…not fair," I mutter quietly.

"You will give Ms. Carlin your notes." Mrs. Baker's tone is final, and with an accusing glare sent to Spencer, I mumble "sure," and cross my arms.

"Thanks," Spencer says quietly, but surprisingly sincerely. She offers me a thankful smile and gathers her stuff, my eyes glaring hard at her back.

As I turn back to my drawing, I can't help but feel angry and wish for Mrs. Baker's stupid Special K cereal to turn soggy in her stupid soy milk.

"What's got you so cheerful?" Aiden asks as he walks over to join me at our table. He obviously notices my less-than-thrilled face.

"Why the cheerleaders of course." I give a big enthusiastic smile which immediately turns to a frown. "Why are they such bitches? Is it like a requirement?"

Aiden laughs. "I think so. I mean you were one after-all."

I punch him to let him know I don't appreciate the association. "Whatever, ass. Playing with balls this afternoon?"

He shakes his head in amusement. "If by that you mean, 'do I have basketball practice?' then yes." His eyes widen. "Whoa," he whispers.

I turn my head to where he is looking and I can't help but echo the same thought in my brain. Spencer Carlin is making her way over, looking even more nervous at the 'what the fuck' looks I'm sure Aiden and I are giving her.

"Hey Spencer," Aiden says smoothly, making sure to shake his head so that his hair flicks into place. I roll my eyes. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She gives him a small smile. "Hey Aiden." She then directs her attention to me. "I was uh, wondering if I could get the notes."

I can't help but notice her nervousness and wonder about it. I'm not a total outcast, but I'm a far cry from the cheerleading social circle. "You sure don't waste any time."

Spencer looks sheepish and gives a short, nervous laugh. "Yeah, sorry, I just figured this was the best time to catch up with you. I have practice after school, so I couldn't get them then." It makes me inwardly laugh that she feels the need to explain. I think it has to do with her nervousness.

"You know, the test isn't for like a month." I'm not sure why I'm being so difficult. Her shyness almost makes me want to take pity on her. Almost.

"Ash would be glad to give you the notes," Aiden cuts in, obviously tired of being ignored while Spencer and I interact.

"Ash," I say meanly, "can speak for herself, thank you." I dig into my bag, searching for the notes.

"Spencer, what is this?"

Spencer jumps back quickly, looking guilty. "Hey Madison. I'm just getting my notes from Ashley."

Madison looks between us, as if trying to decide if that's all that is going on. I'm not sure what else could be ascertained from me holding out a stack of papers for Spencer. "Why?" she asks meanly, as if there isn't anything worse than conversing with me.

"Obviously if she needed you here, Maddie, she would have tugged on your leash."

I catch Aiden's smile out of the corner of my eye. Being a bitch is always more fun with an audience.

Madison ignores my remark and focuses on Aiden, which is understandable. He's a good looking guy; tall, dark, and handsome, and even though I cringe when I describe my best friend like that, I see no point in shorting him, at least in the privacy of my thoughts.

"Hey Aiden," she says in a sultry voice, one I assume is supposed to be flirty.

"Madison." He smiles brightly. He's an attention whore, and having Spencer and Madison focusing on him has probably just made his week. "What brings you over here?"

"I came over to rescue Spencer," she says like it's obvious.

She obviously doesn't know that we're the ones needing to be rescued.

"Oh," Spencer speaks up suddenly, still in that stupid, shy voice. "I'm okay. I'm just getting the notes."

I hold up the notes and put them in Madison's face. "It's paper that you write information on," I explain slowly. "Nn-oats," I pronounce clearly, enjoying the scowl that makes its way across her normally smug face.

"I know what notes are," she exclaims haughtily, snatching the notes from me and handing them to Spencer. "Ugh, let's go Spencer. We have to go disinfect ourselves." She turns to Aiden and gives him a bright smile. "I'll see you at the game." She pulls Spencer away.

"Bye Madison. Spencer." He gives them a big wave, smiling like a dumb ass.

The blonde stops suddenly and turns to me, ignoring Madison's bitchy look of confusion. "I uh…" She looks at the ground before meeting my gaze, a small smile on her face. "Thanks for the notes."

I surprise myself when I give a small smile in response and nod.

"Spencer," Madison says in a harsher tone, grabbing her wrist again and pulling her away.

"Wow," Aiden sighs as he leans back against the table.

I look at him curiously. "What?"

"Madison has-" he begins, but I cut him off quickly.

"Ew," I say in disgust, "don't you dare finish that sentence. I'm fully aware of what she has. It's called an STD."

He laughs. "I was going to say that Madison has nothing on Spencer Carlin."

I look at him incredulously. "Seriously? Shy Mary? Not that I like Madison, at all, but really? I mean Spencer is like...like…" I fumble around thinking of a good way to describe the girl. "She's like this little angelic cheerleader, you know, if there existed such a thing."

Aiden laughs again. "You think I'm joking," I continue. "She's just too…perfect! Yeah, that's it, perfect! Her hair always looks nice, she dresses cute but not slutty, she's nice to people, she makes good grades," I tick off my list. "And she's pretty, too. Like what in the fuck?"

I see Aiden roll his eyes at me. "Wow Ash, after that description, how could I not hate her? You made her sound just plain awful," he says in a voice full of sarcasm. "And what do you have against her? She's never done anything to you."

"Exactly! She's nice to me, so how in the hell is she a cheerleader? And who can be nice all the time. Fuck, even Mary Poppins could get a little pissy." I'm standing up before I even realize it. That's how crazy Spencer Carlin can make me.

"Okay," Aiden says between laughs. "I guess I'll return the ring I bought for her."

I can't help but laugh, realizing that I might have been a little crazy with my rant. "Shut up, ass. Like she'd even go for you."

"I dunno," he shrugs, a teasing glint in his eyes, "she seemed more nervous by you."

I roll my eyes and slap him. "Ugh, whatever. I can't help it she's weird."

"Not weird," he counters, "quiet." He leans closer to me and whispers loudly, "and you know what they say about the quiet ones…"

I once again roll my eyes at my loser friend. "You could learn something from this whole 'quiet' thing." I level him with a significant look.

"But then who'd bitch back at you?" he pouts. I swear he's such a girl sometimes.

"Touché," I smile. "Though Madison seems to do a good job. Hell, Madison seems to be able to meet everyone's needs."

"She's not so bad."

I scoff. "What, in bed? Ugh, so do not want to be thinking about that!" I close my eyes firmly and shake the image free.

Aiden puts his hands up defensively. "I'm just saying, she's nice."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "And by nice, you mean you'd do her."

He shrugs and smiles at me. "I'm not ruling it out. But like I said, she's got nothing on Spencer. Madison would be a good quick lay, but Spencer…she'd be good for a while."

"Ew, ew, ew!" I protest loudly. "Never ever use Spencer and lay in the same sentence. Besides the fact that that's wishful thinking on your part, that's just plain gross."

Ugh. Seriously, Spencer Carlin is just…something!

Aiden laughs and shakes his head at me. "You act like she's hideous or something."

"She's not," I admit quietly. "I mean she's obviously pretty, but still-" I cut myself, not sure where I was going with that thought. Really it doesn't matter because I do not want to think of Spencer Carlin having sex at all, let alone with anyone I know. I'd never wish that on anyone.

"Yeah right Ash," he laughs in disbelief. He picks up my book bag and hands it to me before shouldering his own.

I frown at his tone. "What?"

"Methinks you doth protest too much." Aiden starts heading towards the gym for basketball. Don't ask me why they scheduled basketball practice right after lunch. I'm just glad I'm not in the gym to see the athletes' lunch come back up.

I raise my eyebrows at his lame choice of words. "Methinks you are a dumb-ass." Seriously, who says shit like that, you know, besides Shakespeare or whoever.

Aiden turns around and gives me one big shit-eating grin before walking inside. "You know..." He turns to me with a smug smile. "You didn't say no." He quickly shuts the door.

"Ugh, you are such a douche!" I yell out to him, just knowing he's still wearing that stupid ass grin.

I walk to my car, totally forgoing the rest of school. I only have one more class, and I see no point in staying for Art. I can draw just fine on my own, thank you. I mean just look at the picture I drew of the nerd in my class. Totally museum worthy.

My phone vibrates with a message, and I'm a little cautious when I see Aiden has sent me some kind of multimedia that I have to download.

When the download completes, I can't help but roll my eyes in irritation.

The little fucker sent me a picture.

Of Spencer Carlin in her cheerleading outfit.

What an ass.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: :) Thank you so much oh wonderful readers of mine! Don't worry, all things shall be revealed, all I can say is keep reading ;) Unlike my previous fics, I'm going to try to limit Author notes unless it's vital - which it usually isn't.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

I wish that the dreams gave me clarity, or even peace. But all they did, when I'd awaken, was leave me feeling even more empty as I stared at my bare fingers. Now I curse the day, only because it increased my longing for the dream world.

One that was filled with my mysterious dream girl.

My desperation grew, and so did the number of occurrences as they stemmed from my thoughts; a projection of my desire.

I have yet to figure out who my fiance is, or who is engaged to dream girl – the name I "creatively" came up with to refer to the woman in my dream. She doesn't seem bothered by this. In fact, dream girl seems quite content to spend her days with me. And though I'm curious about the identity of my fiance, dream girl's warm eyes blur that want, shifting it into a feeling that rests fuzzily in my stomach, though not unpleasantly so.

My mother is becoming worried; I've rejected any further matchmaking attempts, convincing myself my dream will reveal Mr. Right to me.

Frankly, I'm worried too.

It's not normal – or healthy – to pine for the unconscious world, but I'm unable to control it. Or myself. And maybe that's what's so enticing about it, you know? Being able to let go, finally, and let my dream dictate its course.

It's refreshing.

The predictability found in my dreams is strangely comforting, completely opposite of my daytime life. And it's this predictability that I crave. This time with DG – dream girls less formal name – that is only found in my dreams, the only time I feel like I'm genuinely smiling. Like maybe all along I was visually learning about smiling for some one, and until she came along, I didn't realize that I was a kinesthetic learner, needing to actually physically experience it to understand.

Because maybe I never wanted to learn how to truly smile until I met her.

* * *

I've stopped keeping track of my dreams. As if numerically recording them makes this more concrete, a defined obsession instead of merely a repeated pleasant image – life's highlights on constant replay.

Dream girl's eyes are twinkling again, and since her eyes are not locked with mine, I know that the only other explanation is that they are caught on her left hand, resting where her ring dutifully and reliably sits.

A smile makes its way across my own lips as I watch her, feeling that familiar twitch in my stomach, the rush of sensations that's just as predictable and as dependable as the presence of a ring on my own finger.

So I wait, a mental countdown occurring as I anxiously wait for her eyes to meet mine, just like they always do, smile growing bigger and bigger on my face. Just like it always does.

And in five seconds, like clock work, her eyes have found mine, and the fluttering has intensified so much, that somehow I can barely feel it, though I know it's there.

Her eyes leave mine only to watch my smile, as if reassuring herself that mine matches the one she's wearing; its equal partner in size and tenderness, conveying unspoken words we've obviously exchanged before, outside of my cognitive mind.

As usual, she pulls me into a firm hug, one that feels ten times warmer as her closeness consumes me. One that feels ten times softer as I can feel her smile against my hair. It's these moments that make me loath reality, simply for the reason that they are devoid of this. Of her.

I can't help but wonder if narcolepsy is something that is often coveted by others. Perhaps those with insomnia, who would rather find sleep at random times than not at all.

But I don't have insomnia – thank God. I can't imagine what my life would be like it I wasn't able to sleep. Wasn't able to create my fantasy, because that's surely what it is; a fantasy. I'm not naïve enough to believe it's my future. Maybe that's why I long for the subconscious world so much, wanting what I can't have in real life.

In my dreams, I say all the right thing – or at least by dream girl's standards. In my dreams, I have a companion, whose smile I'm convinced was made just for me. But then, as I remember the ring on her finger, I know her smile isn't mine. Nothing of hers is. Just half of the rent.

And I wonder, why dreams that are so fulfilling, can leave me feeling more empty than when I went to bed. Because the grass is greener on the other side, and I don't like the previews I'm being given. I'm not thankful of the window I'm allowed to look through, just to have the curtains drawn moments later.

But I am jealous of the smiles I get, because even though there's warmth radiating off of them, it can't compare to the light radiating off her ring, simultaneously blinding me with it's beauty, and opening my eyes to the truth.

She's taken.

Her glances at my ring remind me.

I'm taken.

And suddenly, my dreams aren't as pleasing as I thought.

For once I think I'll prefer the misery of real life. The one without two pieces of jewelry binding two people, just not to each other.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Ahh I relish the confusion ;) It shall all be revealed soon my darlings.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 3  
**

I haven't had _the_ dream for two nights now. That first morning, I thought it was a blessing.

It was the first morning I had woken up in a while and didn't stare longingly at my left hand. It was a morning I actually wanted to wake up and experience. I couldn't even remember my dream, and it was amazing.

My coworkers stared at me like I had walked in naked. God forbid I ever give them that. I think the secretary, Mrs. Hoggins, would probably have to show emotion other than her normal scowl. She might actually have to acknowledge that other humans exist. Again, God forbid.

My great mood lasted until lunch time. One of our interns practically flew into the break room, flaunting her new engagement ring from her "darling Zach!"

And even though they met online - and only had two dates before _darling_ Zach popped the question, and her ring was absolutely hideous - I was completely jealous of her. Maybe because her Mr. Right - even if it is only Mr. Right Now, and via online dating - actually exists. She has a tangible relationship. She doesn't have to wake up from anything, because she's living her dream.

Me though? All I have is my dream. A dream where I have ten million questions and no answers. All I have is two rings and one big missing piece of the puzzle.

And when the dreams press on, revealing nothing to me other than what I already know, I wonder if maybe the piece is already there.

I just don't know where it is. Or, maybe even more scary, who it is.

* * *

"When am I going to meet your fiance?"

She puts down the book she's reading and turns towards me. Her eyes narrow slightly. "You mean re-meet?"

I sigh. She does this a lot, deflects this question. Normally she smiles at me and shakes her head in amusement. I wonder why this time is different.

"Okay, fine," I agree with slight annoyance, "'re-meet.'"

"Is it that important?"

I can't help the look I give her. Does she not want me to meet him? I try to hold back another sigh.

"Well you never mention any one, and you never leave..." Her arms cross, and I can see her tensing. "So I was just wondering..."

"Neither do you," she throws back at me. "Leave, I mean." Her brown eyes are watching me carefully.

She's stumped me there. I can't tell her I don't know who my fiance is, can I? I mean, how embarrassing. Who forgets who they've agreed to marry? Okay, besides the whole Vegas wedding thing.

"Besides," she continues, "I'm perfectly fine here." Her book is picked back up, and I realize she's signaling an end to this conversation.

I mull over her last words. I know she's telling the truth, I can hear it in her voice. I can see it in her eyes as they lock with mine in significance.

"But that's just it...I know you're happy here all the time." I walk over to the couch she's sitting on and I place myself beside her. "I guess I just...I just want to know...well, why?"

And the book is down again, followed by a sigh that sounds much more weary than any I've heard from her before. "Where's this coming from? Are you..." She glances at me worriedly. "Are you not happy here? With me?" she adds softly."

I feel my face fall. I never wanted her to think that. How could she think that? I place my hand gently over hers, offering a light comfort. Upon contact my fingers twitch, as if a strange impulse rushed through them, requiring immediate movement, though with no direction.

Her eyes lock with mine, and I can see the conflict in them, wanting to be comforted by my touch, but still not convinced by it.

"I am happy," I tell her firmly. "Like crazily so. But shouldn't we be out there looking?"

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel stupid. Her eyebrow quirks up, like she's not quite sure why I would ask that.

"Hey," she whispers gently, and this time it's her hand offering comfort as she rubs it up and down my arm softly. "You see this?" She grabs my left hand with hers and holds them up.

"Yeah." I nod, watching her carefully, though my attention is more focused on the warm hand holding my own.

"_This,_" she squeezes my hand, brushing our locked fingers over our rings, "means we're through looking."

I smile warmly at her and squeeze her hand back before pulling her to me in a hug. I can hear her smile, somehow even louder than the pounding of my heart. I know my own smile speaks volumes, especially when she tightens her grip on me.

She pulls back slightly to look at me. "Besides, looking wasn't even the hard part."

I tilt my head slightly. "What do you mean?"

The softest smile spreads across her face, accompanied by even softer words.

"Finding is the hardest. Because looking means you're not really sure what you want. Finding means knowing exactly what you want and seeking it out. And I've already found what I want."

Her eyes fall slowly to her ring, and I allow my gaze to follow, hating the painful clenching of my stomach. I don't know what it's doing. It's not as if I'm jealous of her ring; I have a beautiful one of my own resting on my hand.

What then?

Is it because she knows who her fiance is, and I don't?

She grabs my hand and mumbles something about going to bed.

But I know it's more than that.

Because with each gentle pull of my hand in hers, worries about my mystery fiance are being pushed away, and I'm finding it hard to remember if I was every worried in the first place.

She stops walking suddenly and steps right in front of me, her body pushing mine gently into the wall. I go to ask her what's wrong, but I'm silence by the intense look she's giving me. Her eyes are sparkling and her lips have twitched slightly into something that can only be described as a sly smirk.

It does strange things to me.

"Spencer," she whispers lowly, pressing into me more.

But I never get to hear what she has to say, because I'm waking up from a car alarm going off at the neighbors. Still half asleep, I turn over, desperate to find out what she was going to tell me.

Within seconds I can feel myself drifting, and I smile happily as I await to be woken up in my house.

I can feel her warm body against mine, and I thrust my eyes open, excited to have her message revealed.

It never comes. Because when my eyes open, I realize that the warmth I feel is all my blankets covering me.

I realize that the warmth I'm feeling is actual warmth, and not the warmth of my mind.

And I don't think I've ever felt so cold.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N:Thank you so much for the continuous love from all my reviewers!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 4  
**

I'm depressed.

Yeah, that's totally a self diagnosis. One I'm not qualified to make, but it's the label I choose.

My family has noticed. I was never good at hiding my emotions. Or, in this case, my lack of emotions.

I brought it up at a family dinner, randomly, causing all of them to stop eating and stare at me.

My mom stared the hardest, squinting her eyes like some one does when he or she is concentrating hard - or constipated. Glen swallowed an impressive bite of steak and walked over to me, making me back up suspiciously. I didn't put it past him not to spit in my drink. After he looked around me for a moment, he expertly declared me A-okay, saying how since there wasn't a blob sliding around with a frowny face, I couldn't be depressed.

It took me about thirty seconds to realize he was talking about a Zoloft commercial. It took me five more seconds to start laughing.

Dad just watched us all like we were crazy, mumbling to himself as he finished his meal in silence. I didn't have the heart to tell him that talking to himself probably certifiably made him crazy.

That was two weeks ago. I haven't been back.

My family is amazing. Really, they are. But I can only handle them in small doses, and being around them for a whole meal makes me really rethink the whole 'not depressed' thing.

So now I'm at the grocery story, trying my damnedest to find where the Easy Mac is. It may be easy to make, but it sure as hell isn't easy to find. Actually I take that back, because it's a give-and-take relationship with the Easy Mac. I either completely burn the pasta, undercook it, or use way too much water, all resulting in it being inedible. Easy my ass.

And those signs above the aisles don't help, because I assume that Easy Mac would be categorized as a pasta, you know, considering it _is_ a pasta. But no, it's in the section with Mexican Food.

Apparently, in my town, only Hispanics - and myself - eat it. I'll make sure to suggest the name change to "Macaroni fácil" to the cashier Brenda.

Yeah, I'm on a first name basis.

Fuck I need a life.

I push aside thoughts of a lack of a life and push my gimp cart along, using every ounce of strength in me to keep the damn thing straight. In all the years I've been coming here, I've yet to get a cart that doesn't veer to the left or make an annoying squeaking noise that sounds like a baby seal being tortured. I've given up searching for a decent cart. I'm convinced they are simply myths, having never seen one in my entire life.

Apparently cart maintenance is not a priority here.

I look around the backwoods country store.

Neither is any semblance of order or convenience.

I shove my injured seal cart to the end of the aisle, not even bothering to look up at the signs for the other rows. I know it's not going to do anything other than further confuse and frustrate me. God knows I don't need more of that in my life.

With my cart creeping slowly out of the aisle, I don't see the rushed shopper coming from my right, effectively crashing into the side of my cart. This just reinforces my idea for mirrors on these death traps.

And airbags.

"God, I'm so sorry!" I rush out, face flush in mortification. It's no wonder I avoid public places; my human interaction is very limited.

"While I'm sure he appreciates that, he's not the one you ran into."

I look as I hear the amused voice of my attempted killer. It's all I can do to keep my jaw from colliding painfully with the floor. The dent in my cart is easily forgotten.

It's her.

Holy fuck...it's DREAM GIRL! Two feet from me.

She watches me with a small smirk, one I'm familiar with but seems so much better this time. "Okay, well I know you're not mute because you spoke about five minutes ago."

"Uh, no, no I'm not mute." I mentally roll my eyes at myself. I wish I was mute, so that I'd shut my fucking mouth. I'm surprising myself by getting out sounds that are more intelligent than grunts. I cannot believe that she's here.

"Ah, that's good." She smiles at me, a full one this time. It makes it harder to look away. "I was worried. That PTSD can be pretty harsh. Few things are worse than a cart collision."

I feel my lips quirk in response, finding her silliness addicting. "I'm just waiting until I get home to crawl into the fetal position." I extend my hand out, hoping the clamminess I feel is only in my mind. "I'm Spencer."

I feel my anticipation build, watching her hand reach out as if in slow motion.

"I'm God," she jokes, referring to my apology early. "But I allow a select few to call me Ashley."

I think my heart just stopped. I never knew knowing a name could be so empowering, as if it means so much more than had I known her name but not seen her face. I'm surprised words are still forming, as I'm still convinced more than half of my brain has shut down.

"The people you almost kill?" I retort lightly, delighting in the white teeth that flash at me from behind her lips. "Because I highly doubt that list consists of 'a select few.'"

Ashley purses her lips in mock anger and pretends to draw her hand back. And even though I know she's playing, my hand snatches out on its on accord and grabs hers. Her eyes snap to me, eyebrows raised slightly. I feel the need to backtrack.

"It's, uh, nice to meet you." And just like that, the Spencer who can at least communicate simply with other humans has gone on vacation. I'm not sure that she was even here at all.

And with her hand resting warmly in mine, my brain isn't sending impulses to my mouth, but rather, closer to my chest. This realization causes me to release her hand as quickly as I grabbed it. I miss the feeling already.

I bring my eyes back to Ashley's wondering what she's thinking about my strangeness. Wondering if she's wishing she hadn't run into my cart. Wishing she'd just gone ahead and tried to survive on microwaveable foods for another week.

All I find is her brown eyes lit with amusement; it's a look I've seen often in my dreams. The softness I've come to adore is present as well, though just like her smile, it seems infinitely better in this moment. As if all I'd had before was a pitiful projection, one that could demonstrate the effectiveness, but never truly copy it.

Ashley puts her hands on her cart and pretends to rev it, drawing yet another smile from me. She adjusts imaginary mirrors. "I promise to slow down next time, officer."

I barely register the joke. I'm too busy staring at her left hand.

It's bare.

"You don't have a ring," I tell her stupidly, still engrossed in my staring match with her finger.

She laughs unsurely. "Well...you don't have a belt."

Her randomness catches my attention. "What?" I can't help but laugh at her.

Ashley shrugs. "I don't know...I just thought we were taking turns pointing out random things to each other."

My face reddens. "Oh no, I was just..." My eyes roam around, searching for an explanation that doesn't involve explaining how I've had multiple dreams about her. For some reason strangers find it creepy when you tell them that. Go figure. "Just, uh, noticing..."

Her smile widens and my blush deepens. I'm pretty sure it's a direct correlation. "Well you'd be correct in your, uh, noticing."

I laugh as she mimics my nervousness, the tension fading, at least momentarily. I don't think I can truly relax, not when she's so close to me, and I'm waiting for the scene to fade out and to wake up in my room, because that's how it always happens; right when I just know things are going to get good, I wake up.

Ashley senses my journey into my own world, mistaking it for disinterest. "Well I'll let you get back to your-" She looks in my cart. "organic food binge."

I look down at my cart and laugh. Eighty percent of the contents are microwaveable.

I nod at her enthusiastically. "Of course. I've got to get my daily tofu requirements."

She smiles again and I watch her features soften. "It was nice meeting you, Spencer."

My insides squirm, though in a strangely pleasant way. "Yeah, you too."

I can't make myself say her name. My tongue feels heavy enough, and her name feels extra thick, as if it's peanut butter; it tastes great, but trying to say anything with it in your mouth is near impossible, and you just end up not doing the word justice.

My eyes follow her retreating form while my brain berates me for letting her go. My body finally droops as all the tension leave me in one big, long sigh. I put my hands back on my cart and push it into another row, searching for the last items on my list with even less enthusiasm than I had when I first started.

When I arrive home, I go through the tedious task of taking everything out of my car and transporting it into my kitchen, just so I can unbag it and put it all up. It's a cruel cycle.

I suddenly stop, a hand resting on my microwaveable hamburger helper as a realization hits me.

My cart stopped squeaking after my collision with Ashley, riding straight and quiet the rest of my trip.

This causes a smile to start up.

A strange piece of paper catches my eyes. Further examination shows me a number. But more important than the number...is the name right above it.

God.

This causes my heart to start up.


	5. Chapter 5

_**imaferarri**: God was the name Ashley wrote on the paper above her phone number, in reference to what she'd said earlier when talking to Spencer. Haha and as far as "hot and heavy" ...hm, well I just don't know. Maybe, maybe not ;) And don't worry, Spencer will figure out who her fiance is, because now that she's "met" Ashley, she's already one step closer. And as much as I'd love to have an update for you every day, I think my fingers and brain would cease to function, and I at least need them for basic functions. Thanks for your review, and don't hate this chapter lol  
_

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**Chapter 5  
**

"Are you okay?"

My eyes shoot open at the soft voice, immediately squinting as harsh light hits them. When I look straight of head of me, I find myself looking at jean clad knees. It's then I realize I'm on the floor. I scramble to stand up, quickly regretting it when I feel pain shoot through my head.

"Uh yeah...you probably don't want to do...well that." She smiles sheepishly.

I look up at Ashley and she looks at me guiltily. Holding onto my cart for balance, I rub my head and wait for an explanation.

Ashley puts out her hand, frowning as I stare at it. "I'm -"

"Ashley," I supply for her, sporting a frown of my own. Are we going to go through this again?

She doesn't step back but I can see her subtly retreating. "Um, I was going to say sorry...but yeah, I'm Ashley." She looks me up and down worriedly. "How did you know my name?"

My mouth opens in a completely attractive manner, but I can't help it. I'm stunned into silence.

What. In. The. Fuck!

I look around quickly. Okay, so I _am_ at the grocery store. My cart _does_ have a nice dent in it. And Ashley _is_ standing in front of me.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ashley asks uncertainly. "You got clunked pretty good." She steps closer to me and I watch her hand clench, as if she's restraining herself from reaching out to me.

What? "I did?" If this is her idea of a joke, she sure is sick and twisted. And goes way out of her way for a stupid prank. "What in the hell happened?" I flinch slightly at my tone. "Sorry," I mumble with embarrassment.

Ashley smiles at me, absently pushing her cart back and forth. "Well I was in a rush, trying to find where in the world the salad dressing is, when I turned the corner and BAM, ran into your cart." She slaps her palms together, making me smile.

I nod along with her, glad that I'm not completely making up these situations. More glad that she's actually a real person.

"Well anyway, it pushed your cart into the shelves, and a can of soup fell from the top and banged your head pretty hard, and you got this glazed look in your eye and then fell to the floor." Ashley looks like she's doing her best not to laugh, biting her lip in a look that's torn between guilt and amusement.

I'd be laughing myself if I wasn't mortified by the total ungraceful scenario she just painted for me. And if I didn't just realize that the rest of what happened was another brilliant figment of my imagination. Fuck you, brain; though I am curious and creeped out that the name I gave her in my head is her actual name.

"So yeah..." she carries on nervously, guilt obviously outweighing any potential laughter as she sees my crestfallen face, "I laid you down as gently as I could; I figured you didn't want more trauma to your head." She gives an awkward laugh.

I don't tell her that any more damage to my brain would probably be welcomed at this point. Maybe taking another soup can to the head will wake me up and I'll find that I'm really only sixteen and the last eight years haven't happened.

My cheeks are burning with embarrassment. Not only did I pass out from a...I look down at the ground...from a Chicken and Stars soup can, but then I had to be taken care of by the very person that I just met but have dreamed about for months. And I was unconscious for it.

Ain't life grand?

I glare at the soup can and snatch it off the ground, putting it into my cart with more force than necessary. My face flushes a little as I notice Ashley staring at me strangely, yet again.

"I uh, just figured I'm honor bond to buy it. You know, since it tried to kill me."

Ashley offers me a smile and picks a can of the Chicken and Stars off the shelf. "I think I'll hurry and get mine before it decides to attack me." She holds the can up to the light and stares at it suspiciously.

I breathe out a laugh, surprising myself. I'm actually a little unnerved by how spot on my brain's version of Ashley is.

"So my name..." I look back at her, waiting. "How did you know it?"

'Oh well it's a funny story actually. You see, I've been dreaming about you for the past month. And we're engaged. But the kicker is, we don't know who our fiances are. And we live together, you and I, and in all the dreams I have, it's only us. No other people whatsoever. Oh, and we hug. Like a lot.'

Yep, that's definitely what I am going to tell her.

"Huh?" I say instead.

I decide to play the 'I was just unconscious and am still not fully aware' card.

"When I went to say sorry, you said 'Ashley,'" she explains clearly, watching me carefully as if she really does believe I'm naturally slow, and not just as a result from the accident.

"Oh..." I'm inwardly panicking, thinking of the best way to backtrack. It's never been a strong suit of mine. "I said 'actually.'"

I want to slap myself.

Her eyes narrow in confused disbelief. "You said actually?" she repeats slowly, still staring at me. Studying me.

I realize my fingers are drumming on the handlebar of the cart and I force them to stop. "Yeah," I say with confidence I don't feel. "You asked if I was okay, and I was going to say that 'actually, I'm not okay...so...yep."

Ashley nods slowly with each word that stumbles out of my mouth in a beautiful display of total awkwardness.

I can't really blame myself. I'm still stuck in the surreal state, unable to fully comprehend Ashley standing before me, in living, breathing flesh. Part of me wants to take off running towards the Pharmacy and get some good medicine, while another larger part wants to have her hug me, just so I can prove to myself that this is the girl from my dreams.

Because I know that that, if anything, will tell me. Dreams or not, I know what I feel from her hugs, simply because I've never felt it before, and now that I have, I know I won't forget it.

That's what scares me, though. Because I _haven't_ felt them, because deep down I know it isn't real, even if she is.

It doesn't stop me from staring at her, eyes roaming over features with little subtly, though I should be more than a little embarrassed.

She really is beautiful. And as my eyes linger over her still-bare fingers, I can't help but think that it makes her even more breathtaking.

"Well it was nice meeting you..." she drops off purposefully and looks at me.

"Spencer," I supply quickly, feeling as if my word delivery has sped up to match the pace of my heart.

"Spencer," she echoes with a smile. "And I'm sorry about the, uh, permanent damage."

I wave off her apology with a smile of my own. "It was on my list anyway. The soup, I mean...not the brain damage," I clarify unnecessarily, clearing my throat of imaginary blockage. Any noise to cover up my awkwardness.

She offers one more smile and then carefully steers her cart out of the aisle, leaving me behind with a quickly fading smile and a sickening feeling in my stomach.

Words get caught in my throat, and my feet seem to gain twenty pounds as I try to make myself chase after her. I sigh with disappointment and push my now completely defective cart a few feet before I get fed up with the even worse squeaking and crooked steering and grab my items out and carry them to the register.

I lethargically make my way up front, searching for Ashley with barely concealed hope. It's actually really sad.

As I step up and put my items on the conveyor belt, I sadly allow myself to accept the cruel hand fate has dealt me.

Brenda mumbles some half-ass greeting to me, her normal smell of cigarettes mixed with fifty cats failing to make me smile this time. She grunts out my total, bidding me her usual solemn, "Have a good day," without receiving an answering goodbye from me.

When I get home, this time for real, I don't even bother searching my bags for the phone number that isn't really there from the girl who is. I unceremoniously throw away the annoying plastic bags, cursing as the swishing noise of the bags just causes more dampering on my already dismal mood.

My pajamas are put on quickly, and as I angrily kick off my too warm covers, I remember that I forgot to put the meat in the freezer. I roll over onto my side and close my eyes harshly, relishing the darkness, and praying not to dream.

I hope the meat rots.


	6. Chapter 6

_First off, sorry for the wait. Work kept me busy and then doing stupid house work. At least work pays. House work...not so much._

_And as far as people liking the dream meeting better than the real one, well that was the whole point. It would be too easy - and fast paced - for them to immediately start hanging out. Besides, Spencer doesn't even know she likes Ashley, or, at least, doesn't comprehend the full extent of her feelings. Oh no, dear readers, angst and slowness are full steam ahead, so I encourage you all to stay aboard, but I do promise the happiness that is Spashley. Thanks to all who have reviewed! You make a girl happy :)  
_

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**Chapter 6  
**

I make my way into the kitchen, frowning when I find it empty.

"Ashley?" I call out, moving into the living room. My mood drops more as I don't find in there, either.

"Ash?" I try again, trying to ignore the desperation in my voice.

My feet carry me throughout the house faster, haphazardly looking into each room before turning quickly and moving on to another. My breathing has picked up too, and I'm slowly becoming aware of the clenching of my stomach muscles.

Hearing a noise, I excitedly make my way my room, rushing into it without any pretense, simply just bursting through my doorway, looking around breathlessly.

All I hear, besides the unsteady breaths panting from my mouth, is silence. My body sags in disappointment, everything within me deflating as my search, once again, turns up fruitless. Then I hear a small noise, a small puff of air, and I tilt my head up to hear better.

The sound beckons me toward my bed, and I stop right before it and listen closely, features scrunched up in intense concentration. I hear it again, still just as quiet but some how more prominent, as if the sound is breathing more, instead of heavier.

I fling my pillows off my bed, having no clue what the point was in my actions, other than maybe I was convinced there was an animal underneath them. I'm actually relieved to find out that _that_ particular search came out empty.

All of a sudden, something wraps around my ankles, and as I let out a terrified scream, I vaguely register a faint "boo!" in the distance. Recovering from my heart attack, I remove the hand from my eyes – leaving the other on my still rapidly beating heart – and turn to find a highly amused Ashley.

"Gotcha." She beams at me so happily, that I can't even pretend to be mad at her, even if I am convinced she just took about three years off of my life.

I roll my eyes in amusement, shoving her. "You did." Her smile widens. "Ass," I add with a smile of my own, pushing her again. "Any particular reason why you were hiding?"

Ashley puts her hand up to her chin and strokes it thoughtfully, making contemplative mutterings. After a few moments, she purses her lips and looks at me. She takes deep breath. "Nope, none at all." Her face scrunches into a huge grin, and I roll my eyes at her again.

Pushing her for a third, but probably not last, time, I grab her and meet her eyes. "Just don't do it again." My voice is strangely serious.

"Aw," she coos, "did I scare you?"

I nod. She did scare me, though not just by jumping out at me. "I didn't know where you were."

"Hence the 'hiding' part of hide-and-seek." She steps closer to me and brings her face in front of mine. "Are you okay?" Her warm voice is full of concern, her eyes full of worry.

My arms wrap themselves around her small frame, holding her tightly. All I can do is shake my head into her shoulder.

"Spencer?" She tries to pull back to look at me, but my tight grip prevents her. "Spencer?" she says again. I can tells she's becoming more concerned.

"You can't go hiding from me," I tell her pitifully. Doesn't she understand?

"Okay, I'm sorry. No more hiding," she promises softly, tightening her arms around me as if she senses how disturbed I am.

"This is all I have." I hug her pointedly before pushing against her gently to break her grasp.

Ashley nods like she understands, though her eyes betray her. "Okay."

I press a grateful kiss to her warm cheek, not allowing myself to be embarrassed by my boldness; pretending I don't hear her quick intake of air. Pretending it doesn't make my own breathing pick up.

Ashley's hands frame my face, gently lifting it to connect gazes. Fingers write unreadable messages into the skin of my cheek, conveyed only through the intensity in her deep, warm eyes. Then those fingers pull my face closer to hers, and she gives me the sweetest, most soft, intimate smile ever, and all I can do is return it with one of my own, allowing gravity to bring our faces together.

And just like I knew it would, I can feel itshifting - Ashley and my surroundings beginning to blur again.

"No. NO!" I repeat, pulling Ashley to me. "Not now." I look at her desperately, begging. "Please don't let me wake up. Not this time." I can feel tears falling down my face, but they don't faze me. I drop to my knees and hug her to me, crying out pitifully.

Ashley steps back from me with a small smile. And when I wake up, I don't have to feel my face to know the tears are real.

* * *

My dreams have been more frequent, something I wasn't sure was possible until I had them every night. The only thing that matches the number of occurrences, is my number of trips to the grocery store. I know it's stupid, and petty, and damn obsessive, but that doesn't hold me back. If anything, it spurs me on, encouraging me in the only way an obsession can; in desperation.

Just like I expect, Ashley is never there. Brenda is, and lately she's been creepily nice to me. God, even she sees how crazy I've become. I really need help.

I'm in JC Penney's now, trying to find some new clothes for work. We're introducing "casual Friday," which means black pants and a button up shirt. I'm really not sure who finds that casual, because I sure as hell don't, but that's the new dress code. Before we wore black pants and a button up shirt with a jacket. Somehow they think we've made progress. All it's done is make me chilly at work – as if I needed to be more miserable.

After wandering around for twenty minutes only to find out that I've been going in a circle – though I was following the stupid signs, I reluctantly make my way over to an employee, asking for directions. Carrie – according to her name tag – looks me up and down for a moment before pointing behind me and muttering about the fitting rooms. I offer her a polite smile, grumbling to myself about how I would have figured it out...eventually.

As I look around the different racks, wondering where in the hell the business clothes are, I come to realize that not only am I not going to find proper work attire, I'm also not going to find anything for anyone over the age of 16. The stupid saleswoman pointed me to the Junior section. Or, as I more accurately refer to it, the pre-boobs section. Seriously, these shirts would function more as a bra with how small they are.

I gaze at myself critically, wondering what Carrie was thinking when she saw my figure. I may not look 24, but I at least look like I can legally buy cigarettes. And I know for sure I don't look like I can fit in _these_ clothes, as flattering as it may seem.

Clumsily navigating my way out of the 'puberty' section, my purse gets caught on a hanger and pulls several shirts off the rack. I glare at the offending garments, barely preventing myself from yelling at the inanimate clothing. While rather forcibly shoving them back onto the rack, I hear some one behind me clear their throat. I ignore them, not in the mood to deal with too small clothing _and_ a diseased shopper.

"Excuse me?"

I give an unlady-like huff and turn around, staring menacingly at the young girl who dares to speak to me. "What?" I barely refrain from snarling.

She flinches in surprise but doesn't leave. Instead she picks up one of the shirts I had just put away and holds it in front of her. "Do you have this in a size 3?"

I know I'm giving her a 'what the fuck' look. "Um...I don't know?"

"Wellllll..." She looks at me unblinkingly, and her full on stare and the way she draws out that one word has further pissed me off. "Could you check?"

This time I don't hold back my temper. "It may have escaped your..._observant_ eye, but I don't have a name tag. Or any semblance of patience, so I suggest you go to your precious GAP or SNAP or whatever your stupid teeny bopper stores are called these days, and leave me alone." My breathing is heavy and I'm a little surprised and embarrassed over how worked up I am.

The girl just stares at me, and for a moment I'm afraid she's either going to call the cops on me or cry. Then she looks around before staring at me again. "Sooooo," she says slowly, causing me to flinch, "...does that mean you don't have this in a size 3?"

This time I feel like I'm the one about to cry. I stare down at the floor, just begging it to swallow me, but only if it excludes the clueless girl beside me. With an internal conversation reminding myself that murdering her will only provide temporary relief, I shake my head at her and storm off, finally headed in the right direction.

It's no wonder people shop online. Not only do they avoid having to physically visit the place, but they don't have to deal with people like Carrie and what's-her-face. I can already promise myself that my day would have been ten times better without those interactions. The world is supposedly getting less personal, and it's encounters like that that make me vote for further advancements in reducing face-to-face communications. Please.

I finally find work appropriate clothes that have some semblance of style to them and don't look like something out of the Red Hat Society. While their clothing may look acceptable on my grandma, those of us who are not eligible for Social Security simply cannot pull it off, and I can't say I mind.

So after too many trips to the fitting room, which consisted of that annoying sensor beeping with every entry and exit I made, I grab my selected clothes and maneuver myself so that my foot can turn the handle, pushing with my heel to open the door fully. When I meet resistance, I frown and kick the door harder, eyes widening as I hear a low moan from the other side.

I berate myself for wishfully thinking it was the stupid teenager and shift my clothes to one side so I can see my poor victim. As luck would have it, a hanger gets caught on the door handle, pulling me back with a released grunt of air as I, for about the tenth time today, curse this stupid store and more cautiously make my way around the door.

When my eyes make contact with the injured woman, I drop my clothes in shock, and send a silent thank you to whoever is listening that my jaw didn't drop as well.

It's Ashley.

"Hey Spencer," she greets warmly, casually, as if I didn't just plow into her with the door. As if it hasn't been weeks since we last saw each other. As if she can't see how in awe of her presence I am.

I'm barely remembering to breath, so I'm sure speaking is a far stretch. All that's going through my mind is, 'She remembered me. She remembered me!'

"Oh, hey..." I drop off purposefully, waiting for her to supply her name. Like I've somehow forgotten it.

Like I haven't replayed it over and over inside my head. Like I haven't dreamed of her each night.

"Ashley," she fills in for me, and I can't help but wonder if the disappointment is really there, or just my imagination.

"Ashley, that's right." I give her a coy smile. "Sorry about you crushing your diaphragm."

Ashley shrugs and smiles at me. "Eh, I guess we're even now. Besides, diaphragm isn't that important. A brain on the other hand...How's that working out for you, by the way?"

I bite back a smile. "Oh you know, still getting used to it. Though for some reason, I feel the need to avoid eating soup." I look at her curiously. "Any idea why?"

She tries to hold back her smile and fails, and my smile finally breaks free. "Nope," she says innocently, "none at all."

"Although," she says thoughtfully, "I feel the same way about changing room doors. Hmmm."

I'm suddenly reminded of why we're here talking. "Oh God, I'm so so sorry about that. Are you okay?"

Her hands brush of imaginary dirt. "Yeah no worries, my rib cage was nice enough to cushion the blow."

Despite my guilt, I smile wider. "Well that's always good to hear."

Ashley smiles at me and picks up her clothes off the floor, and a sinking feeling runs through me, settling in my stomach as I realize she's about to leave.

What's even worse is the realization that I'm going to let her.

"Ashley, wait!" I call out before she even leaves the fitting room.

She turns around and looks at me with plain curiosity, and I can't help but notice how much I prefer the looks she gives me in the dream world. There her eyes are only filled with warmth and tenderness, never questioning like they are now. It doesn't matter that the shade of her brown eyes are so much better in person, because they're missing the one thing I've come to like about them best; the emotion in them.

I must be staring at her longer than I realize, because she smiles a little self-consciously and says, "Yes?" snapping my attention back to reality.

And just like that, any sense of confidence I had has flown out the window.

"Um, you left a shirt." I dumbly hold up the clothing to her.

"Oh that's not mine," she tells me, "but thank you." I don't even feel lame for lying and using one of my own shirts to stall her.

She offers me one last smile, this one finally meeting her eyes. "It was nice seeing you again." And even with her eyes on me, her words go straight to my heart.

It scares me in the best way possible.

"You too, Ashley." I have to stop myself from saying, 'Nice knowing you.' Or something far more stupid and dangerous like, 'See you tonight.'

But it's true, because I will see her tonight. And every night after.

Because my dreams give me something reality can't. And that's Ashley.

And the Ashley in my dreams may have a ring, and she may not be officially mine, but she's more mine than the real Ashley could ever be, and she's somehow so much more real than the real Ashley, and I refuse to give that up.

Just like I'm afraid I'll refuse to wake up one of these times.


	7. Chapter 7

_The wait was longer than I had anticipated. Company came for Labor Day, and before that, I was surprisingly unmotivated to write when I had time, and when I didn't, I wanted to so badly. Anyway, enough of my excuses, here's the next one :)  
_

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**Chapter 7  
**

Ever have the feeling like something big is about to happen? Like you've been sent all these signs; ones you didn't give a second thought, passing them off as insignificant or inconsequential?

Well that's how I've been feeling all day, and besides being a bit ominous, it's very annoying. I feel anxiously paranoid, and I never would have combined those two emotions before, but they seem fitting as of right now.

I was actually afraid to get in my car and go anywhere, partially convinced that I was going to be in a wreck. And although it would have been damn near impossible, considering I was stuck behind a Lincoln Mercury that was doing 15mph in a 55, meaning I'd barely had enough speed to make it over a speed bump, I was still cautious.

It is with slight trepidation that I now make my way through my dad's office to meet him to head to lunch. I'm really not sure why we don't just meet at the restaurant and save gas, but when my dad's smiling face greets me, I can't do anything other than hug him warmly and nod at his request to wait for five minutes while he finishes up.

I take the afforded time to really look around my father's office. I've been here, several times in fact, though mostly when I was a kid. It hasn't changed much really, other than the pictures on his desk having been swapped out for more recent ones. The jar full of jolly ranchers is still there, and has been since as long as I can remember, and even as I smile at the familiarity, I can't help but wonder how often my dad replaces the candy. Hardy candy or not, they aren't timeless. It's enough to keep my hand from reaching forward to grab one.

My eyes rest on the other desk in the room. Last I saw, it was empty and collecting dust – if not a few spider webs. Now, however, it has piles of important looking documents littering its surface, complete with stamps and seals and other office supplies. I walk over to it with interest.

"Did the desk even stand a chance?" I ask my dad as I plop myself down in the chair.

"What's that kiddo?" I hear him all from underneath his desk as he searches for something on the floor. I smile at the endearment, even if I'm far from a 'kiddo.'

"The other desk you decided to conquer. How's your desk doing? Any feelings of inadequacy or jealousy?"

His head pops up and he gives me a confused smile. "What? Oh," he laughs as he realizes what I'm talking about, "no, that's actually not mine." He stands up and holds up his found pen triumphantly. "You are looking at the proud owner of a new secretary."

"Oh wow." I offer him a curtsy. "I wasn't aware that I was in the presence of such royalty, good sir. So let me guess, they gave you good ol' Ingrid Beecher?"

Yes, that's actually her name. She's one of those woman whom you automatically know she's a 70 year old, senile woman, simply just from hearing her name. Ingrid really is a dear old woman, but I'm convinced she's one diagnosis away from dementia, though I say that in the nicest way possible.

She's not that bad, though her perfume leaves something to be reckoned with. My dad laughs about me commenting on it, but I really did gag when I first smelled it; old people mixed with a hint of fifty cats. Let's just say it's not an alluring concoction.

"Actually, no they didn't. They had her at first, but when she spilled her tea on an important document and put accidentally put it through the shredder, thinking it was a paper dryer, they...reluctantly...let her go." He laughs slightly before sheepishly sobering.

"Anyway," he continues, "they ending up sending me this young woman. Who's great, by the way. She's organized, funny, sweet as anyone, and man can she file."

I watch his eyes glaze over slightly and I can't help but roll my eyes with a laugh over my lame dad. I gasp in fake astonishment. "_And_ she can file! Wow, she _is_ great!"

My dad blushes slightly and nudges me slightly. "You ready kiddo?"

"Yeah, just let me run to the bathroom real quick." I grab my purse and walk to the bathroom, faintly hearing my dad talk to some one who walked in.

As I wash my hands and open the door, I find my dad looking at me with a smile, waving me over.

"And this is my daughter I've been telling you about." He points to where I am, swelling with fatherly pride, and my cheeks flame before I even get over towards him.

"Spencer, this is-"

But I don't need him to introduce me, because I already know who it is. Really I should have seen it coming. Who else would it be? My life is too predictably fucked up for it to be anyone else.

"Ashley," I supply for him, feeling the sudden urge to burst out laughing at the situation.

"Oh," he says in surprise, looking between Ashley and I. "You've met?"

This time Ashley answers. "We've run into each other – literally." She smiles at me. "How've you been?"

There's so much I want to say to her, but with my father there, and frankly, with _her_ there, I'm finding speaking in complete sentences to be beyond my ability at the moment. "Fine."

"Spencer," my dad chastises gently, mistaking my short response for rudeness, instead of nervousness.

Ashley shakes her head and smiles, offering a polite, "It's okay, Mr. Carlin. We're old friends, aren't we Spencer? We go way back."

I can't help but inwardly laugh at that. If she only knew.

"Well we're about to head to lunch," my dad tell hers. He pauses, and before I can stop him – though I'm not sure if I really want to – he looks at Ashley. "You're welcome to join us, if you want."

I don't know why her eyes flick to me, but they do. "Well," she considers, and I don't know if she's politely pausing to turn the offer down, or if she really is contemplating the pros and cons.

I find myself leaning forward in anticipation.

"Sure," she agrees finally, and I release the air I'd been holding in.

"Great!" My dad grabs his coat and gives a smile to Ashley and me. "Shall we?" He holds the door open.

Ashley laughs at his chivalry and walks into the hallway, stopping just outside the door and peering at me. I blush as I trip over my feet while walking after her. For her part, she doesn't laugh, but I can see the amusement in her brown eyes, and I don't have to look at my father to know he's green eyes are smiling as well.

The only thing I can think is, 'what have I gotten myself into?'

* * *

Dad laughs as he unlocks the door, smiling as Ashley recounts one of the many funny stories from lunch. Me? I'm trudging behind, staring at the floor to make sure no threads jump out from the carpet to trip me. Not that I need assistance.

Lunch really wasn't bad. Awkward, sure, but only because Dad and Ashley kept talking about work related things. And as much as I tried to contribute my knowledge, all I could offer was the company name. They laughed politely and then went back to discussing a specific case, stopping and looking at me as if forgetting I was there with them.

Is it wrong that I'm jealous of my father?

Anyway, despite me feeling like a third wheel with my _happily married_ father and his very young (Dream Girl) secretary, I am glad Ashley came with us.

It was great seeing Ashley in a different setting, one without us unintentionally trying to kill the other. Watching her get along perfectly with my dad had my lips smiling and my chest aching, and I can't help but think she's the only person I've known who's flowed with him so effortlessly.

And now I wish that I had been more loquacious - anything other than my lame monosyllabic responses and small laughs. My nerves had me stuttering like a per-pubescent boy, and I was afraid that if I was successful in making a witty comment, I'd combust.

"We should do this again," my dad offers, drawing my attention back to my surroundings.

"Definitely." Ashley smiles so brightly, causing her eyes to sparkle. I can feel my heart clench again. I have to stop my hand from resting on my chest.

"Ashley, why don't you get Spencer's number, you know, so the two of you can hang without this old man cramping your style?"

I feel heat rise to my face in mortification, and I don't know whether to kill my dad or kiss him. I keep my eyes cast downward so that there's no chance of me meeting Ashley's gaze.

And I can't help but wish for the balls that my dad has.

And now I can't help but wish I could take that thought back.

My eyes reluctantly find Ashley's, searching for any signs of disgust or disdain or something distasteful at my dad's suggestion. Finding none, I breath a small sigh of relief and step over closer to Ashley, offering a sheepish smile, as if I'm simply acquiescing to my dad's request. As if my heart isn't threatening to beat out of my chest and my hands aren't shaking.

Before she can get her phone out, I've thrust mine into her hands, avoiding seeing the concerned look she's probably shooting me. "Put your number in and then I'll call you so you'll have mine."

It's the only thing I can think to do. There's no way I can sit at home with her number, knowing it all rests in my hands.

"Sure." She smiles again and types her number in, handing it back to me and holding her own phone as she waits for my call to go through.

When it rings, she holds it up with a smile and silences it. In my mind, I congratulate myself for calling her, even if it's not the situation I pictured.

Offering parting words by way of an excuse about catching up with work, I leave my father's office. Their office. My feet carry me to my car, and I trip several times on the way.

I don't mind though, because I know why I tripped so many times. It's because they weren't on the path ahead of me.

No.

They were on the phone in my hand, the one displaying Ashley's phone number so tantalizingly in front of me.

* * *

I really do have work do, but I know there's no way I'm finishing it. My eyes are faithfully glued to my phone, just in case it vibrates with a message or call; either way, I don't want to miss it.

It vibrated early, and I about spilled my water as I bounced excitedly in my chair, only to find out it was a stupid chain text from a woman at work, warning me that if I didn't forward it to at least ten people, I'd miss out on finding my true love.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, knowing that I'd already found my true love. Sure, my true love currently only existed in a dream, but the more time I spend in my dreams – with Ashley – the more I realize that she was right; maybe I shouldn't be looking. Maybe I have already found it.

My phone lights up with a message, and I briefly glance down before my eyes quickly snap back to it and I pick it up quickly.

_Is it just me, or did my desk smell like rotten eggs blended with coconut?_

The message isn't anything special, but as I reread its contents and its sender's name with an ever widening smile, I feel like I know I've found it. And it's not scary at all.


	8. Chapter 8

_I suck, I'm sorry. Real life...hectic. Hopefully the next wait won't be as long. Thank you to all my amazing readers and reviewers! :D  
_

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* * *

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**Chapter 8  
**

Things with Ashley are...amazing.

We see each other every day, trading smiles and laughs, something that has never seemed so intimate until now. It's all I can do to wait until I see her again, because it's become that meaningful. And I smile widely because I know it's the same for her.

How do I know? Simple. She tells me. I blushed and ducked my head, but when she smiled at me, I couldn't look away.

So yeah, things are progressing fantastically!

In the dream world that is.

Reality? Not so much. In fact, if the dream world is bumping along nicely, the real world is contrastingly – frustratingly – moving at a snail's pace. And even that might be too strong of a word. The actual pace might be even slower.

It's so hard not to compare the two worlds. I know that one is real and the other is most definitely not; I understand that - really. But in the dream world, Ashley and I flow so perfectly, as if we've had years of experience, and really, maybe we have. So when I'm actually hanging with Ashley, you know, outside of the unconscious world, it's awkward - to say the least.

Silences are uncomfortable and common. Tension is ever-present and high. Not to mention my nerves.

Right now we're at my apartment, watching TV just so there was some noise going on to block out the crickets chirping at the silence. In my dreams, we sit on the couch and watch TV a lot, so this is nothing new.

What _is_ new is that Ashley isn't sitting next to me. No, she's currently sitting in the chair. I had to stop myself from asking what she was doing over there. I had to remind myself that this is the real Ashley. It scares me how much they're starting to blur together, because I can't combine the two, because they _aren't_ the same. No matter how much I wish they were at times.

The TV is playing some sitcom, though my eyes haven't been on it since I first turned the damn thing on. I smile slightly when I notice Ashley's watching the show intently, mouthing to herself quietly.

"You're not reciting their lines, are you?"

I'm only half serious, but fully curious. For all I know, she's planning her escape, waiting for the moment I'm distracted so she can bolt.

Her hand snaps to me, and I try not to get too excited by the attention. "What?" She's still slightly distracted, and I find myself smiling fuller. "Oh, no." Her lips quirk up. "I was actually just uh..."

Ashley looks embarrassed, and I think I may have found my new favorite look of hers. I'm beyond interested now, and I lean forward on my couch and purse my lips.

"You were just..."

She looks down, speaking to the floor. "I was just making up my own lines for them to say." Her eyes lift up. "Shut up," she warns me.

I hold my hands up, biting back a smile. "No, no. I think it's..." I bite my words, stopping myself from saying cute, though that's the only word coming to mind. "Funny," I utter lamely, refraining from looking at her so I don't blush.

"Shut up," she says again, this time with embarrassment. "You're the one who picked a lame show."

I cross my arms at her. "You're the one watching it."

I inwardly curse myself for being such a dumb ass. Wishing, not for the first time, that my brain worked a little faster than my mouth.

Ashley thankfully doesn't pick up on it, instead choosing to laugh at me like I told a lame joke, though I don't know whether she really didn't catch it or if she's just ignoring it. I pray it's the first one.

She looks down at her phone, something I'm starting to realize signals her departure. I can already feel the disappointment swirling in my stomach.

"Well I should get home. You're dad has some cases he wants me to follow up on." She stands up and adjusts her jean, taking a big stretch that keeps my gaze fixed on her, thankful that her eyes are shut.

As her words sink in, I can't help but to be bitter towards my father. Thanks a lot, Dad. I start to rethink my offer to buy him lunch, but then I remember the real reason I even offered, Ashley, and somehow I convince myself to follow through with it.

"Yeah, he's a slave driver." I wonder if that sounded as hollow out loud as it did in my mind.

Ashley smiles and walks over to me. "I know. He's so cruel, giving me an hour lunch break and stocking the fridge with cherry Dr. Pepper." She gives a fake sigh. "Well thanks for having me over. It was a lot of fun."

I open my mouth to speak but she cuts me off, of course with another smile, "Even to watch _Days of Our Lives_."

"I'm glad you got to come over. It's nice having some company other than my parents. And the mailman." I don't tell her how excited I've been ever since she first responded to my offer. I don't tell her I went shopping, bought a cute outfit, only to bring it home and realize I already had the same shirt.

"Well I can't compete with the mailman, but..." She suddenly wraps her arms around me, just briefly, but it's enough to completely silence everything in my but my heart. That has compensated by tripling in speed, and I squeeze her just as quickly and let her go, fearful she's felt it.

When we step back, she gives me one last smile. "I'll see you later, Spencer."

Then I'm shutting the door, leaning against it for ten minutes longer than I should. Realizing how depressing that seems, I make my way over to the couch, stopping just inches from it as I change my mind, instead walking and plopping down in the chair Ashley sat in. I take in the warmth of her presence, wishing more than ever that she was back in it with me.

Realizing how depressing _this _is, I lay down and close my eyes, allowing myself to drift off to the world where it's not an obsession, but simply a reality.

* * *

Ashley walks over to me, smile fading as she seems my expression. "What's wrong?"

She sits down next to me, pressing our sides together. "Nothing," I mumble, resting my head on her warm shoulder, feeling comforted by her already.

"So you just like sitting here doing nothing?" She looks around the room. "In the dark?"

I smile at that. "I'm seeing how hermits live."

"Ah." I hear her sniff me, and my smile widens. "And how they smell?"

I shove her playfully. "I showered this morning, jerk."

"I know." She smiles. "I heard you singing Britney Spears. That's how I _really_ knew something was wrong."

"From my horrible singing?"

"Well that-" I nudge her again. "And that you were singing _You Drive Me Crazy_."

I let out a pitiful laugh, making her turn her head and frown in concern. She wraps her arm around me and pulls me closer, absently rubbing my arm up and down. My body falls limp on her, letting her take all of my burden, one I'm not even fully aware of.

"You know I'm here for you."

She doesn't ask it, and her certainty only makes me feel worse, as much as it makes me feel better.

"I know," I return softly.

I stare at my ring, suddenly not feeling any of the happiness from staring at it that I normally do. Ashley watches me watch it for a moment, resting her hand over it, hiding it from view.

"Having second thoughts?"

The doubt in her words has my eyes rising to meet hers. This time I staring at her in concern, a hand lifting up until it's resting against her cheek.

"No," I tell her honestly. It's hard to have second thoughts when I don't remember having any first thoughts.

Ashley searches my eyes for a moment, nodding in satisfaction. "Good."

I feel her mouth quirk in a small smile, and then I feel her face turning in my grasp, staring at me so intently. And then she's moving towards me, and that's the only reason I know time hasn't stopped completely.

I know what's happening. I know what my body, what everything in me, is craving. And yet, somehow, I can feel my ring more than ever. The pressure causes me to lean back.

"Ashley...I'm engaged."

Her eyes open, and the flash of disappointment in them is replaced by amusement. "Looks like I did something right."

And now I know time has stopped.

I feel like I'm suddenly in a movie, having a huge epiphany that the audience was aware of and screaming at me all along to realize, while I just trudge around oblivious. Like a reader in _Romeo and Juliet_, yelling to Romeo to inform him that Juliet isn't dead, but merely asleep.

This whole time I've been wondering who my fiancé was, when, all along, I should have realized who my _fiancée_ _is_.

I'm a little surprised that this doesn't feel like more of a shock. Like maybe I should be freaking out a little more that I'm engaged to another woman. To Ashley. But then I realize that this isn't a shock, because deep down I've wanted it to be her, so much. Even more than I could even understand.

Sensing my distraction, Ashley cups my face and strokes it softly, smiling reassuringly, as if she has insight into my thoughts. "I love you. So much," she whispers breathlessly. Beautifully.

She's leaning in again, and I feel my breath catch as her face nears. And right when our lips are finally about to meet, I turn my head.

I put my hands on my ears, inwardly telling my brain to shut the hell up, to stop asking me 'What in the fuck I'm doing?' I shut my eyes so I don't see the hurt look on Ashley's face.

And even though I feel like complete shit, I know I did the right thing.

When I have my first kiss with Ashley, I want to be fully awake. Because even though sometimes I want both Ashley's to be the same, they aren't the same. And real Ashley deserves it all.

I want all the things with the real Ashley that I can't remember having with dream Ashley. I want Ashley to have the heart that dream Ashley wrongly thinks she has.

It's never been hers, and after finally meeting the real Ashley, I know it never will.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9  
**

I hate a lot of things;

Sea food. Coffee. Spiders. That damn schnauzer who barks and growls at me every time I go to by the office to check my mail.

But what I hate the most, is feeling like I'm on the outside of some secret information, especially when I _know_ that I don't know.

Like now, for instance.

I've just finished having perhaps the most cryptic conversation with my dad ever. He delivered his usual dinner invitation - one I only accept about every third invite to - and informed me that I wouldn't want to miss this one.

When I asked why, he just said it was a feeling he had. I could already picture his smug smile, one that widened even further when he told me I might want to wear something a little nicer than normal. Before I could question him further, he muttered a curt goodbye and hung up, leaving me staring at my phone with raised eyebrows and a 'what in the fuck' expression on my face. Usually that face is reserved for when I talk with my mother. She just warrants that response.

Throwing my phone down with an eye roll, I walk over to my closet, forcing myself to shove aside my t-shirts. They were first hung up because when I moved in, I had no dresser. I've long since had a dresser, and now they remain hung up because it pisses my mom off.

It shouldn't be hard to find an appropriate outfit, but it is - even with the t-shirts eliminated. Because even with that choice gone, all I have left is winter clothes and work attire, and there's no way I'm going to wear my work clothes to dinner. Not with Glen there to make fun of my, and I quote, "Stuffy librarian look."

Half the time he shows up in pajama pants that look like they've either been worn for ten years straight or been mutilated by a pack of angry starved wolves, and not one word is said to him. I showed up one time with my hair pulled up, and my mom asked me if I decided not to shower this week. She's a sweetheart.

I decide on jeans and a simple red shirt, applauding myself for leaving my t-shirts resting in the closet _and _for not even considering those horrendous button-up shirts that have collars that reach my ears.

With a quick inventory check of my purse, I lock the door and get in my car, using the short drive to prepare myself for whatever my psycho parents have planned on inappropriately surprising me with.

Last time they surprised me was my sixteenth birthday. They told me come outside and as we all stepped through the front door, my jaw dropped as I saw a brand new Jaguar parked right by our driveway. I screamed excitedly and hugged them for about five minutes, muttering high-pitched, unintelligible thank-yous. Until the Jaguar turned on and abruptly made a U-turn, finally allowing me to see the ten year old Toyota Camry they had actually gotten me. I don't think I've ever cried harder than I did that day.

So it's needless to say I'm a little apprehensive about whatever secret my dad is keeping from me. I'd be concerned that it's a blind date, by I know for a fact my mother wouldn't be able to hide such a juicy secret as that, though this offers me little comfort.

When I finally arrive, I put the car in park and turn off the ignition, releasing a long breath before opening the door and walking to the porch. I raise my hand to knock and jump back as the door abruptly swings open before I can make contact.

"Hey sweetie!"

It's my mother's beaming face.

"Hey Mom," I manage out through her bear hug, awkwardly patting her on her shoulder a few times, more to get her to release me than to return any sort of affection.

"Your father and I have a surprise for you!"

She's practically foaming at the mouth, and I refrain from rolling my eyes as she grabs my hand and tugs me inside, bouncing excitedly with each step she takes.

"Joy," I whisper to myself sarcastically, not having the guts or cold heart to say it loud enough for my mother to hear.

As if I made a joke, my mother giggles and chastises me good-naturedly. "You're so silly, Spencer. Just like your Aunt Agatha."

I'm rather offended. Aunt Aggie, as she forces us to call her, is one of the most boring people ever, finding great enjoyment out of drinking tea and watching re-runs of The Golden Girls. The silliest she's ever been was when she put her right shoe on the left foot. Dear Aunt Aggie laughed for hours about that one.

When I'm finally able to tug my hand free from my mother's constricting grasp, I rush out an excuse and go to the living room to find my dad. He's watching TV, but when I enter, he quickly turns it off and runs over to me with a big smile.

"Spencer!" He hugs me tightly. "I'm so glad you came."

"You told me to come," I remind him pointedly.

"Yes, well, here you are." He beams brightly. "Now perhaps you'd like to help set the table?"

I know better than to be fooled by the question. It's really a not so cleverly disguised way of telling me to do it. He's done this for as long as I can remember. I've seen right through it for as long as I can remember.

"Sure, dad," I agree somewhat easily, seeing no point in being difficult, at least not with him.

"You go ahead. Your mother and I will be in the living room, watching TV. So if you're wondering where we'll be...that's where." His brown eyes twinkle and he gives me a little wink before walking off, leaving me to shrug at his weird behavior. I absently wonder what he had to drink before my arrival.

Nothing has changed in this house, except maybe my room, and the dishes and silverware are in exactly the same place they've always been. One time, just to be sneaky, I switched out two drawers and ran to the living room to hide and await the result. I was disappointed when my mom opened the drawer, couldn't find what she's was looking for, and promptly gave up and went back into her room, never mentioning it to anyone. When I checked back ten minutes later, the drawers had been put in their proper place.

I grab some plates and make my way into the dining room, only to discover that the table has already been set. Thoroughly confused, I turn back to the kitchen, only to walk into another body and drop the plates, shattering three out of the four.

"Dammit Glen, the one time you want to help, you manage to successfully fuck it up," I huff angrily at my stupid brother and pick up the one plate that's not been butchered.

"Technically, you ran into me."

My face lifts when I hear the voice that definitely doesn't belong to Glen. As my eyes rest upon Ashley, I realize that I should have known this was coming. And as my gaze focus back to the ground, resting on the cute black flats she's wearing, I wonder how I ever thought she was Glen – especially given she doesn't smell like she hasn't bathed in weeks. Actually she smells really good. Different than when her and I hung out, but still good. Amazing.

Her words finally make their way to my brain. "Seems us hanging out is a health hazard."

It's not the smoothest line I could have delivered, but I know that the more suave I try to be, the more lame I sound.

Ashley's eyes fall down to the pieces of glass. "I hate to say it, but I'm glad it's the plate shattered on the ground instead of me. I don't look too good in a million pieces."

"Spencer, what did you do?" my mom demands as she enters the scene, baseball bat in hand.

Ignoring her question, I stare at the weapon in her hand. "Mom," I say slowly, "why are your carrying that?"

Paula looks confused for a second. "What? Oh, _this_? I heard a crashing noise and got worried."

"And your immediate thought was that some one was breaking into a house that had all the lights on and four cars in the driveway?"

"It's called being cautious, Spencer."

"It's called being paranoid, Mother." I cringe as she taps the bat against her hand. I don't trust her with that. Never give crazy people weapons. That's actually great advice.

"Is everyone okay? I heard a crash. They didn't take the plasma, did they?" my father asks worriedly, slightly out of breath as he looks around the room.

I look at Ashley and roll my eyes, hoping she understands the silent message I'm sending her, assuring her I'm adopted.

"Ashley and I barely managed to fight off the attempted kidnapping, but other than that, I think we're fine."

My mom doesn't even register my sarcasm. I honestly think she's immune by now. Pity.

"What happened to my plates!" she cries in outrage, looking more distraught than I've seen in years.

"How do you think we got the kidnapper to leave?"

Ashley nudges my side and takes step forward. "I dropped them when I went to put them away." She looks down sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Carlin."

Paula finally takes her eyes off the broken plate. She puts a hand on Ashley's shoulder. "That's okay honey, there's plenty more where that came from."

Brushing aside the creepy sexual innuendo my mom unknowingly used, I look at Ashley and give her an impressed look. The small smile I receive in return convinces me that no matter what happens, I know I'll be glad I came tonight.

* * *

Despite the sadness of the murdered plate hanging over dinner, I somehow manage to move past it. I can't say the same for Paula, who occasionally stares at her plate and tears up, but everyone else seems fine.

Actually, if I'm being honest, I don't really know about everyone else. I'd be lying if I said I am paying them attention. Ashley's been holding my interest since I threw my plate at her earlier. I would blame my dad for sitting Ashley next to me, but I don't mind so much. And not to mention that when he told Ashley to sit next to me, he offered me a wink. I'm really not sure what that's about. My dad's been weird all night. Well, weirder than normal.

"So Ashley," my dad begins, offering me a quick smile before turning back to her. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

I close my eyes in embarrassment for Ashley, wishing I could just disappear. Though I admit to being curious and leaning slight forward to hear better.

"No," she says with a laugh, "I don't."

I hear my mom gasp. "Well why not?" God, shut up mother. "You're gorgeous!" I agree. "And so sweet." Again, agreed. "And Arthur and I just love you." Aren't you forgetting some one?

I glance over to Ashley, watching her blush. "Well that's sweet. But I'm not really looking for anyone right now." She fiddles with her fork.

I think I just felt my stomach drop to the floor. My plate is pushed away. Suddenly I'm not hungry.

"Spencer either, apparently." My mother narrows her eyes and gestures her fork in my direction, displeasure obvious.

"Oh, now, I wouldn't say that," my dad offers, throwing me probably his tenth wink of the night. I'm starting to think he's having some sort of mini seizure.

Ashley turns towards me, offering me a companionable smile. "Seems loneliness has a friend. Go figure."

My cheeks begin to warm, and I'm forced to take an awkwardly huge bite out of steak to cover my embarrassment. As I quickly begin choking, I realize this wasn't the best way to save face. Especially not when my mother runs up behind me and throws her arms around me, thrusting against my chest. I suddenly think that maybe choking wouldn't be such a bad thing after-all.

* * *

I – unfortunately - didn't choke, and managed to survive dinner. Mostly unscathed. Physically speaking, of course. The emotional scars of dinner will forever live on in repressed memories and awkward conversations.

Paula gives me another awkward hug, and I notice that the hug she gives Ashley seems much more natural. For the first time in a long time I feel sad for the distance between my mother and I.

My dad pulls me to him, his comforting scent making me smile and agree, somewhat reluctantly, to the possibility of another dinner. I don't miss the way his warm eyes sparkle when Ashley hugs him, the way he's just welcomed her into the Carlin family, whether she's aware of it or not. I also don't miss the "You're welcome," my dad mouths to me as I turn to leave.

I don't understand it, and just like his other strange gestures and words this evening, I brush it off as old age, though it lingers in the back of my mind, the mystery tickling me in a subtle way.

Lethargically I make my way to my car, lingering as much as possible to wait for Ashley. There's a slight chill in the air, making me shiver and hold myself, though my gaze doesn't stray from the door. When it opens, allowing light to filter into the dark driveway, I do my best to act natural - like I wasn't holding my breath waiting for Ashley to leave.

She laughs at my mom's offer for another dinner invitation and says a final goodbye before walking over to me, standing beside me and mimicking my pose of leaning on my car.

"So no soup or steak?"

I'm thankful for the darkness as a blush takes over my cheeks. "Or sharp knives. It's going to be a dull existence."

Ashley laughs, and I find it hard to recall that just minutes ago I was cold, when now, I feel anything but.

She shifts until she's facing me. "Tonight was fun, though, really. I already knew your dad was great. And your mom...she's..."

"Crazy? Overbearing?" I offer helpfully, successfully dodging Ashley's attempt to elbow me.

"I was going to say sweet, and that she means well." She rolls her eyes at me.

I shrug. "Yeah well, they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

I don't meant to be sound bitter, but it always seems to come across that way when I talk about my mom.

Ashley looks at me for a moment, obviously surprised by my tone. "You should be glad she cares," she tells me softly. Something in her words makes me think there's more to her sentence.

Again I shrug, not really knowing what else to offer. "She could care less, and it would be okay."

It's the first time I've really opened up about my mother, to anyone, and it's as relieving as it is nerve-wracking. Because of all the things I want to talk with Ashley about, Paula is definitely not on my list.

"Or she couldn't care at all." Ashley looks away from me, focusing on something in the distant darkness.

I want her eyes back on me. In the few seconds it's been since they left, the cold has crept back in. My mind is frantically searching for topics that aren't mundane and expected. Something that will bring a smile to her face and prolong her stay. I can't stop the inevitable, but I can put it in slow motion.

Ashley sighs, a weary sound, and I turn my body towards her. "Curfew?" I joke lamely, refusing to feel stupid as I watch a smile creep on her face.

"More like life," she answers quietly, her smile a mere ghost now.

I press on, leaning closer to her, whether intentionally or just by luck. "Hmm, I think I've heard about people having those." I tap my chin in mock-thoughtfulness.

She laughs, a welcoming, wonderful sound, and I can't help the smile that greets hers, though mine is dull in comparison. As she turns to fully meet my eyes, I find my breath catching. Even in the darkness her eyes are captivating and bright.

"Thanks," she whispers appreciatively. "I needed that."

I don't tell her that I needed it, too.

"Actually," she presses on, "I think I needed this whole night." Her mouth shifts until the smile is one of longing and regret.

I don't tell her that, even now, with the nameless shadow looming over her, she's beautiful.

"Yeah." She nods, and I smile as she keeps talking to herself. "I definitely needed this."

I don't tell her that I think I just need her.

Ashley shifts until her posture mimics mine, side resting on my car. "I'm glad you showed up. Your dad wasn't sure you would." She laughs softly. "I can't imagine how awkward it would have been without you. I mean more awkward."

Her elbow nudges me playfully, and I relish the contact, remembering dreams of this sort. Recalling memories of our close relationship.

"That's my family for you. They either crowd you or embarrass you. Thank God for consistency, huh?"

And her eyes lock with mine, and I wonder what is so special about those words to cause such an intense look. I don't think I'll ever know, but as her brown eyes rest so warmly on my own, I don't think it matters all that much.

She steps into my space, her body so close to mine, making me want to retreat and lean into her, contradicting desires echoing in my brain. A warm hand gently cups my cheek, touching with a feather light caress that convinces me is my imagination.

"About what your mom said..." she begins in a hushed voice, a secret meant only for us.

I'm fighting between asking what she means and telling myself not to close the distance between us.

Unaware of my inner struggle, Ashley continues, her warm touch still resting upon my face. "You shouldn't be looking for anyone." She smiles and shakes her head. "Because you...you're the type people look_ for_.

My eyes close as her words hit me, as flashes of dream Ashley telling me the exact same thing. Telling me that I'd already been found. Revealing hidden truths and dormant desires.

I want to ask her if _she's_ looking, because that's all the matters. I want to confess that I'm not looking for just anyone, but for her.

I open my eyes, focusing them on her perfect face that appears even more flawless in the moonlight. I feel her hand slowly leave my face, leaving a lingering warmth that I know will carry me through the night, into my dreams.

And just as quickly as she stepped into my space, she leaves it, giving me a warm smile. "I'm really glad you came," she tells me again, though this time it really is meant just for my ears. The cool air unwilling to carry it any further.

It's only at her soft gasp that I realize I've thrown my arms around her in a hug. One that's as thrilling as it is impulsive. One that can never last long enough because I know I'll eventually have to let her go.

It's only at the parting pressure on my cheek that I realize she's kissed me there.

It's only at the small, proud smile on her face that I realize that maybe I'm not the only one who's looking.

And as I turn back to the house and see the curtain moving suspicious, like some one had recently vacated their position there, I have a feeling that while Ashley and I are looking, some one else is watching.


	10. Chapter 10

*Edited for stupid mistakes. Thanks for Anon :) *

_Since all of you are so amazing, I'm doing some FoF! Thanks for my loyal readers/reviewers, and any newcomers. You motivate me beyond belief!_

**neverhappy10: **_Hahaha I laughed so hard when I read your comment. Worry not, this is not a suspense story. I'd love to write one, but I don't think I have that ability - yet - to do something of that caliber, and make it good. And you should probably get off your knees and sit down. Some one has to have some nice chairs for you to sit in, you know, prop your feet up, stay a while! _

**Irishgrl33: **_Is it Arthur playing matchmaker? Or maybe it's someone else and he's just made aware? Questions questions questions. Ah, who am I kidding, it's Arthur. As for Paula...she's not entirely aware of things, though, for her part, Ashley really isn't, either._

_**TheNerd181:** Wow, that's a very good theory, and obviously well thought out. But, as any author should do, I must maintain an air of mystery! Never reveal how your trick is done, only show the finished product. I'm very glad you like this story, and hopefully, however I end this story, it'll meet your expectations._

_**imaferrari: **Ahh, such a loyal reviewer, you are :) First of all, I love your username, because ferraris are the bomb! And whenever I say it, I sound like the girl from Finding Nemo saying "I'm a piranha!" Second, I can't believe you consider me comparable to those brilliant writers. You make a girl blush! I'm so very very happy you enjoy this. It's been a blast writing it, and I think it's probably more angsty than I usually do, but that's what makes it so much fun. And Arthur is a very observant guy, just like he was in the show. That being said, he definitely has other things to base his assumptions off of, whether from Spencer's actions or Ashley's words._

**LyricalHarmony53:**_ Love? Well I love that you love this story! And especially that you find my writing style unique. I strive to be like so many of the great writers on this site, but I do try to keep it my writing style. Copies are never as good as the original, and I never want to replicate another writer's works. So thank you, I think that may be the best praise I've received ever :)_

**JJ:**_ Number 100! I totally hope confetti and balloons popped out of your computer as you clicked to submit your review. Thanks for pushing this story to triple digits! I'm sending you a hug via Internet! And I really like having DreamSpashley compared to realworld Spashley, because I want readers to truly understand how conflicted Spencer is. Even though she's completely aware of the major differences, what with one being real and the other, obviously, not, it just makes it that much harder for her. In one world her and Ashley are perfect together, and in the other, it's like they are just standing still, and she hates it because she knows where they **could** be. As far as more intense Spencer, you bet! She is more sarcastic and caustic, and while she's not depressed or unfeeling, life is definitely not perfect, and she has some issues with her mother that have shaped her to be at least a little bitter. Honestly I enjoy writing a more sarcastic Spencer. On the show she's portrayed as more sweet and innocent, and I feel like she probably was all that, but also was a smart-ass underneath._

_**Son of Sam: **Haha a baby moose-lion? I'm shuddering as I picture that, yet laughing at the same time. But I'm flattered that you love this story enough to kiss such a...interesting baby. Lol. Thanks for your review!_

_**chunkymonkey3: **You know, as much as I love real kisses, sometimes the sweetest message can be conveyed through cheek kisses. And though Ashley wasn't conveying any type of love through her kisses, it was a show of affection, and for both of them a very meaningful gesture. It gives a little insight into Ashley and gives a little hope for Spencer. Basically a win-win, no?  
_

* * *

**Chapter 10  
**

My apartment is immaculate. Anything that could possibly look like clutter has been shoved into my closet. I've dusted, vacuumed, and mopped every surface, and when I felt like I was about to pass out from the strong scent of bleach, I lit a candle, praying I wouldn't find out the hard way that bleach fumes are flammable.

In case you haven't guessed it, Ashley's coming over.

Sure, she won't be here for about another hour, but that's about how much prep time I need. I kind of wish I hadn't cleaned and dressed already, because now I'm nitpicking. My stack of magazines has been straightened about ten times, my hair brushed so much that I'm afraid I'm becoming a trichotillomaniac.

I'm already regretting my decision to apply lotion, what with my hands sweating, creating a slimy combination. They've been wiped repeatedly on my shorts, which in turn have been smoothed out just as often.

The phone rings, successfully scaring the shit out of me and causing me to bust my ass to try to find it. You think with its obnoxious ring it would be easy to find. This, however is not – nor ever – the case. I just know it's Ashley calling to cancel, turning me down for some actual fun.

I stare at the damned phone, debating whether to answer or not while mentally counting the rings. It's on five now, which means it has two left.

Now one more left before the call ends.

I roll my eyes at myself before answering, slightly out of breath. "Hello?"

And I wait. For Ashley to tell me she can't make it, for her to tell me she has better things to do than waste precious time with me.

"_Hello_," a robotic voice answers, making me sigh. "_This is Linda with Child Services. It has come to our attention that you have not been making payments on your child. Failure to do so can – and will – result in legal action. If you have any_-"

I hang up quickly, staring at the phone with wide eyes. Stepping back cautiously, I hear a knock at the door, scaring me – once again.

Thinking it's some deranged Child Service representative, I look through the peephole, breathing a huge sigh of relief when I see Ashley. Realizing that, holy shit, it's Ashley, I wipe my hands again take a cursory smell of myself, nodding in assent that I don't smell too terribly.

"Hey," I say casually as I open the door.

Ashley smiles, stepping forward and hugging me without any pretense. "Hey," she returns. "Sorry I'm kind of early."

"It's okay, I don't mind." She has no idea how much I downplay my response. She has no idea that I'm still tingling from her hug.

She walks in, eyes sweeping around my apartment as it has every single time she's been here. As she plops down on the couch, she looks at me with concern. "Everything okay? You seem...distracted?"

"Actually no," I answer grimly, making my way over to her and sitting beside her. I can't help but notice that she sat on the couch this time, leaving the chair vacant.

I watch her sit up straighter, eyes roaming over my face. "Oh God, what's wrong?"

I sigh. "I'm not sure how to tell you this, but I, uh...I have something to tell you."

She sits up even taller, if possible, and nods, urging me on.

"I..." I drop off and let my head shift away from her. "I'm not making payments on my child. And now...now Linda is after me."

I watch in enjoyment as her face scrunches up. "Payments on your child? And Linda who? Blair?"

I laugh at this, unable to hold onto my serious disposition. I shake my head. "I just got a random call from Child Services telling me that, not only do I have a child, but I'm not making payments on them. Go figure."

Ashley starts to smile. "You know," she says thoughtfully, "it sucks for whoever was really supposed to get that message." She relaxes back into the couch. "Now enough about your drama, let's watch other people's drama!" She yanks the TV remote off the table and puts her feet up, crossing them by the ankles.

She looks completely comfortable, and it warms my heart watching her so relaxed, looking like she belongs.

We watch TV in silence, except for Ashley's occasion criticizing. I smile because it's hilarious, and because she's so cute. I smile because she's here with me, once again. I smile because her heat next to me has never felt so warm, and knowing she's this close and yet not touching me is the best kind of torture ever.

When I feel one of her fingers lightly dance across my own, I jump and snap my attention to her, a questioning look in my eye. I'm extremely thankful that she's further away from my heart, though I'm not entirely convinced she can't hear its pounding.

"You have beautiful hands," she says simply, as if she's merely commenting on the weather. As if her action hasn't completely thrown me off kilter.

Unable to form an coherent response, and still a little unsure of how some one can have beautiful hands – well, besides her – I just stare at her, hoping my eyes convey a silent question to cover up my loud longing.

Her finger traces my knuckles, sliding delicately, deliciously, over my skin in a caress that drowns out the noise of the TV and all other potential distractions. I silently will her to meet my eyes, but she's focused on her task, as enthralled as I am.

"I've never really thought much about hands, but yours are just..." She gives a soft smile to accompany her soft words, shaking her head at herself like she can't believe she's saying all of this, either. "Beautiful."

Ashley's chin finally lifts, and her eyes are lock with mine. The eerie glow from the TV is the only reason I know it's still on. I can't hear the sound, not with the loud ringing that's echoing in my brain. The small puffs of air leaving my parted lips are the only reason I know I'm still breathing.

Now that I'm convinced I'm alive, I wish I could be convinced I'm not dreaming. And maybe I am. Surely her soft touch is too good to be true. Her eyes too warm and soulful to be real.

And as I let my gaze flicker from her face to her fingers on my hand, I'm reminded of this exact same position with dream Ashley, of what was about to happen with us. Of how her delicate face leaned toward my own. Of how the hand that lightly rubs my own was instead cupping my cheek, cradling me. Drawing me closer to her when I didn't think it possible.

As Ashley suddenly leans back and removes her hand, effectively destroying whatever was happening, I'm reminded of the disappointment that dream Ashley felt. The irony isn't lost on me, and neither is the bitterness or longing.

I force myself to bring my hands together, lacing them protectively in an attempt to feign casualness, like I'm unaware that something was about to happen. Like I'm not wanting to close my eyes and let tears overtake me.

My body rises and falls with each unsettled breath, trying, just like the rest of me, to find a normal rhythm, the one we had just five minutes before. Or maybe one that's older than five minutes. The one it had before Ashley.

* * *

The evening progress in silence, thankfully not awkward, and when I get up to use the bathroom, I make sure to sit a few more inches away when I return. Whether Ashley notices, or cares, is a mystery, and I do my best not to dwell on those thoughts.

And when Ashley does her predictable routine of checking her phone and telling me she has to leave, I don't feel my stomach clench in disappointment, only because it hasn't unclenched from before.

"Maybe we can do this tomorrow?" she offers happily, throwing me her smile, the one that never fails – and never will – to make my heart ache.

"Yeah," I promise, probably emptily. It doesn't escape my notice that she doesn't ever invite me to her place. Again, I try not to dwell on it.

Ashley nods and smiles, throwing her arms around me like is customary. Normally this consistency makes me grin like an idiot. Now it only makes me feel constricted.

I release her quickly, echoing her goodnight sentiments and smile, laughing as she jokes about my unpaid child in Guatemala.

As soon as she's out the door, I lock it and walk to the couch, grabbing the remote and forcefully mashing the power button. I feel a sick sense of pleasure as darkness envelops me.

I stand in the dark living room, only for a moment, before the tears start to fall, and then I'm sprinting to my room, collapsing on my bed. My eyes are closed tight, and I know I won't open them until morning.

* * *

"I didn't think you'd come back," Ashley tells me sadly. I notice that her ring is turned upside down. This hurts more than I can say.

I walk over to her, stopping in front of where she's sitting on the chair. "I had to." My hand reaches out, waiting anxiously for her to place hers in it.

She doesn't make me wait long, releasing a small, defeated sigh as she does so, allowing me to pull her up. "Why?"

I hold up my ring, smiling softly. "Because of this."

Ashley gives a small laugh, obviously having forgiven me. "Is that the only reason?"

My head shakes back and forth, the smile on my face widening rapidly. "No."

I cup her face in my hands, stroking her cheeks. The smile she gives in response causes my heart and stomach to clench with anxiousness and nervousness. And a little guilt that is quickly pushed far away.

"And because of this," I whisper, and then I pull her mouth to mine, knowing I won't open my eyes.

Not until morning.

* * *

_**A/N: **A little fyi, that phone call actually did happen to me! I was at school watching TV when a number from California called me, and it was some automated message about paying for my child. My friends got a good kick out of it, and I did too, though I couldn't help but feel a little bad for whoever should have gotten that message. Oh well, I still slept the same that night._


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N**: Apologies for the lack of updates. I've been obsessed with replaying Final Fantasy VIII (awesome game!), and then my brother-in-law brought over is PS3 and I've been addicted to playing FIFA '11. Basically that's not an excuse, but it's what I offer. Thanks to my beautiful, wonderful reviewers and readers. Your love is better than...um...well other people's love! Keep it up :)_

_Also I want to pimp some of the awesome stories I've been reading. "Day by Day," and "These Memories are Just a Piece of Sky," both by Speerish1 are amazing, and, of course, "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away," all on . Anything by WaveGoodbye, though my favorites are "Blanket of Stars," and "Breathe in the Lightning," though BitL isn't complete, it's still freaking awesome! Check them out!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 11**

"Fine," I huff, throwing the knife at Ashley, "take it!"

The blade hits her leg, and she looks at me, appalled. "Spencer! I can't believe you did that. You could have killed me."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "I figured the dime-sized, TOY knife would only cause _semi-_fatal damage."

In case you haven't guessed, we're playing Clue, and Ashley's winning. Or, at least, that's what I gather from her constant writing on her secret pad of paper, with a smug smile. The only thing my sheet has on it, aside from the pre-written information, is doodle of me killing myself...with the knife, in the living room. Can you tell we've been playing this game too long?

Ashley had text me earlier inviting me to her apartment. You can imagine my shock and happiness at her invitation. I didn't respond for five minutes, but only because I was dancing around my apartment in joy. Unfortunately my window was open and one of the elderly women who lives nearby stopped and looked at me before narrowing her eyes and shaking a chastising finger at me.

And despite my nervousness, I was ready in record time. I was that eager to see her and her apartment. The huge ass smile that I wore when she opened the door to welcome me in quickly faded when I saw there were other people inside. With brief introductions, I was then entered into the board game, and that's where we all are now, shoving various candies into our mouths at impressive quantities.

Looking down at my sheet, I realize – quite happily – that I can make my accusation to win the game. I do my best to calm my giddy smile, putting on my best poker face. When Ashley and the other girls, Carly and Hannah, give me suspicious glances, I shove a handful of M&Ms into my mouth.

Finally it's my turn, and I laugh triumphantly. "I'm going to make a guess. " Glancing at my sheet one last time to make sure I get it straight, I smile and say, "I think it was Mr. Green, in the conservatory, with the rope!" I look around the room excitedly, waiting for anyone to show me cards to counter my guess.

When no one shows me any cards, I eagerly reach for the envelop, grabbing the cards and looking at them. Only to cry out in frustration. "What!" I demand angrily, staring at the face of Mrs. White, who is most definitely _not_ Mr. Green.

Ashley starts laughing. "Um, Spencer?"

I whip around to face her. "What?"

She points below me to where my cards havebeen thrown down. I follow her gaze and see my cards staring right back at me, including one Mr. Green and his smug look.

"But...but..." I look from my cards to my sheet in confusion. There's no way!

But as I continuously look back and forth, I realize that I forgot to check of Mr. Green. That bastard!

Sensing my obvious distress, Hannah and Carly mumble a hasty goodbye and head outside, telling me it was nice to meet me. I offer them a weak, awkward smile, echoing my sentiments.

Ashley walks over to me, trying – and failing – to hold back a smile. "So, apparently you're a _little_ competitive?"

I let out a laugh, realizing that I probably came off a tad crazy, what with getting upset over a five dollar game that's stupid and doesn't work anyway!

And with that inward rant, I smile at Ashley. "Eh," I say with a shrug, "maybe a tiny bit."

"I couldn't tell. It's not like you totally massacred the M&Ms."

I smile sheepishly and look down at the bowl of half eaten, half crushed, chocolate that used to be in a circular shape. "That was Hannah," I tell her seriously.

Ashley nods to herself. "You know, I always knew she was a closet M&M killer. But that's a relief; I was worried she was a cereal killer."

I don't miss her lame joke, and I don't miss the way she cracks up at her own joke, causing me to laugh heartily. Even though it was lame, it still cracks me up, and I relish in our shared moment, even over something so trivial.

"So how've you been?" Ashley asks me, watching me carefully.

I avoid looking in her eyes. I've become an expert at avoiding her, considering I've done it for about two weeks now. After my kiss with dream Ashley, I have been feeling terribly guilty, and I can't even begin to count the number of times I've wished I hadn't done.

As much as I'd like to blame Ashley for driving me to dream Ashley, it's really not her fault. But I was hurt, and I just wanted some one who I knew, without a doubt, wanted me. It wasn't right, but it was easy, and in the end, that's what I wanted at that moment.

"I've been good. Busy, but good." I lie with little difficulty, and I think that's what makes me feel even worse.

"Yeah, I noticed."

Her words don't have any accusation in them, but I take offense anyway, letting all my bottled emotions surface with surprising swiftness.

I let my eyes meet hers, narrowing slightly. "I do have a life, you know."

"Again, yeah, I noticed." This time she doesn't keep the anger out, and I sigh, recognizing the build up of a fight.

"Yeah." I nod unsympathetically. "It must have sucked not being able to come over to my apartment. I mean how else are we supposed to hang out?

She stands up quickly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I stand up too, taking a defensive stance even though I'm the one attacking her. "Why is it that we've been hanging out for like two months now, and I'm just now seeing your apartment?" I gesture around the room. "Every single time we agree to do something, it's always at my place."

"I'm sorry," she says meanly, "I didn't know that it was so inconvenient for me to drive twenty minutes out of my way to hang out with you."

"It's not!" I huff, "I just don't understand why we never went to yours...before today. Are you, like, embarrassed for me to meet your other friends, Carly and Hannah? Is that it?" I feel my stomach clench as it hits me. She really is ashamed. It's fine when we're alone, but that's all it will be.

"Are you insane?" Ashley runs a hand through her hair. "What do you think today was?"

I grab my stuff and make my way to the door. "A mistake, obviously."

"Spencer, wait," Ashley calls out softly, rushing to catch up to me.

I feel all my anger leave me, replaced, instead, by weariness. "What?" I hush out tiredly, keeping my back to her.

Hands brush my shoulders, gently turning me around to face her. I see the concern and defeat swimming around in her eyes. "Don't go. Please. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say those things. I just...just don't go."

I sigh and give a small nod, hating that I give in to her so easily. "So why do we always hang at my place? I don't mind, I just want to know why."

"Because of Carly and Hannah," she answers, pulling her hands back when she's convinced I won't leave.

"So it _is_ because of them. That's great Ashley." I go to turn around, only to be stopped by her again, a warm hand resting gently but firmly on my wrist.

"It is, but not like that. They're my roommates," she explains. Her eyes stare into mine, begging me to understand.

"Okay," I say slowly, "but that still doesn't explain why I couldn't have come over two months ago."

Her hand drops, along with her gaze, and I follow her eyes to the floor. When she remains silent, I laugh bitterly. "Alright, well I've got my answer. I guess it's a good thing we didn't try this earlier, huh? Although then maybe I wouldn't have wasted two months of your time."

I don't say anything else to her, and I don't watch to see if she reacts. I shoulder my purse and place a hand on the handle, berating myself for a lingering hope causing me to hesitate.

"Spencer!" Ashley calls out again, and I raise my head to the ceiling in a silent question. For once, I just want her to leave me alone. Please.

"What?" I snap, feeling small pleasure when she flinches slightly.

"I'm sorry, okay?" She steps in front of me, blocking the door. "I just...I didn't want you to come over here because of Carly and Hannah. Not because I'm embarrassed," she assures me before I can speak, "but...because I just wanted to spend time with you. Just you," she adds softly.

My eyes flick to her face, and I feel my heart thud painfully. Beautifully. "Wh...what?" Surely I didn't hear her correctly.

Ashley steps towards me, reaching out to grab my hands. "I never wanted to make you feel inadequate or...or stupid, or however else I've made you feel. And I'm sorry. So sorry." She looks down at our hands, her thumb tracing my knuckles, much like it did before. "And your apartment...that's the only place I truly feel relaxed, and comfortable, and all these other warm feelings, and I think...well maybe I think that maybe it's not your apartment at all."

I feel my whole body hum, and I'm waiting for my brain to catch up, for me to fully process her words. It's hard to think when her brown eyes are so warmly holding mine, and her hand is so warmly holding mine.

"Maybe..." She takes a deep breath, releasing it shakily, a beautiful smile gracing her features. "Maybe I think that it's just you."

My eyes flicker, torn between their desire to stare into her eyes or to lock onto her lips. I know I'd never tire of looking at either.

Another step is taken, and it surprises me to find that it's my legs that have moved, sluggishly carrying the rest of me along. This time I release an unsteady breath, shaking my head at her. "That's impossible," I tell her gently. "Because it's you."

The smile I wear mirrors her, and as she places her cheek next to mine and wraps her arms around me tightly, holding me impossibly close, I know that this simple hug – that's anything but simple – is a million times better than the kiss I had with dream Ashley.

* * *

I finally make it back to my apartment, and as I set my stuff down and get ready for bed, I realize how cold it is. And I know, for sure, that it really is just Ashley.

I lay my head gently on the pillow, desperate to stay awake. I don't want to forget this days, this night.

And, more importantly, I don't want to dream.

But as my eyes slowly close, Ashley on my mind, I frown; because there's no way I won't dream of her. And, as always, it won't do her justice.

And, as always, I'm afraid I won't be able to resist.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N**: Real life sucks. I suck_

_I had a little of this typed out, but whenever I'd go to work on it, anything I typed felt forced and terrible. It was like, when I wanted to type, I couldn't, and when I could, I didn't want to. I'm sorry for the wait. I wish I was still a little bit ahead so I didn't have to make you wait. I know first-hand how sucky waiting is. Thanks for sticking with me though!_

**Galmil**:_ Oh I totally love Clue too! And, just like Spencer, I'm terrible at it. I never realized how bad I was a deductive reasoning. When I was little I used name all three things that I had when making a guess, just to try and trick my brother and sister into guessing that those 3 were the final 3. I didn't realize that I had shown them those cards before, so they both knew I had them. Needless to say, I never won._

**Your Relentless Lover: **_I'm so glad you like the pacing. I know a lot of people got frustrated with my last story - though that probably had more to do with Ashley - but I love writing a slow build up, because it makes people focus on the little things along the development of Spencer and Ashley. I want people to get a good feel for Spencer and her feelings for Ashley. As far as everyone knows, Spencer isn't exactly gay, but she sees something in Ashley that draws her in, and she knows she wants to explore it more. Spencer isn't labeling it, so why should I? And fear not, the pacing does pick up, but only that they start to get somewhere._

**Elly1212**_: Yay, you like the dreams. Good! I wonder if anyone has noticed the decrease in dream Ashley. She's definitely here - and in this chapter - but Spencer is slowly weeding her out, whether intentional or not. Personally, I love writing those scenes best, because I can make it more light-hearted and easy going than the real story, simply because it is loosely based on Spencer's wants and fears._

**Maeisforlovers: **_Seems Spencer is not the only one realizing that :) Earlier, she only wanted to dream because that was all she had. Now she doesn't want to dream, not just because her reality is better, but she feels__ a tie with dream Ashley and feels guilty. And I know when I feel guilty about something, I tend to try to avoid confrontation. I hope you like this chapter. It's one of my favorites, more many reasons_

**Imaferrari: **_I laughed when I read the last part of your review, and I apologize that I was unable to update twice, especially quickly. I have a general idea for the story, but I want to keep true to the slow pacing, yet not frustrate people beyond belief, haha. I enjoyed writing the fight scene, and the part when they were playing Clue. I love incorporating humor whenever I can, and Spencer and Ashley just have a fun, easy kind of friendship, just like in the show._

* * *

**Chapter 12**

"You look terrible," my father tells me as I sit down in his chair. His smile belays any harshness, though concern is there as well.

I reach over and pinch his cheek. "You sweet talker, you."

He's right though; I do look terrible. I look like I haven't slept in days.

This would be because I _haven't_ slept in days. Not really.

Every time I start to fall asleep, I wake myself up - if I can. If I do manage to fall asleep, it's only for about thirty minutes, thankfully not long enough for REM to kick in and allow me to dream.

It's kind of ironic for me to be fearing my dreams so much, considering it's not a nightmare I'm running from, but, rather, something worse – at least to me. I'm running from the Ashley that I already have but don't want. Or, at least, an Ashley I don't want to want.

This inward struggle is enough to keep me up at night. I'm so far opposite of how I was months ago, when I was welcoming sleep and hating waking up, but at the same time, I feel like I haven't made any progress. Because as much as I long for the real Ashley, I often find my gaze dropping to my left hand, sighing softly, dejectedly – guiltily- as I think of dream Ashley. She's what started it all, really, and though I want forget about her, part of me holds on; simply because even though she's a different Ashley, she still _is_ Ashley, and that alone is enough for me.

His warm eyes wash over my face with concern. "Seriously though, kiddo, you look exhausted." He brings a hand up to trace under my eyes. "I haven't seen bags this big since Glen decided he would support Red Bull by seeing how many he could drink in a week."

I laugh at the memory, even as I cringe picturing it. Glen was so wired he was shaking, and we all purposely had him do things just to watch him fumble around. Lucky for him, though, he was exempt from setting the table. You don't need to be reminded about my mom's love for her plates. Not so lucky for him, he wasn't able to sleep that whole week and puked so much, my parents took him to the hospital to have his stomach pumped.

And even though hospital visits are so far away from hilarious, I couldn't stop myself from laughing, almost to the point of passing out. Glen did his best to throw me a glare between his frequent trips to the toilet.

"You know, he still can't even look at a Red Bull, commercial or otherwise, without feeling sick."

My dad laughs softly. "Serves him right."

I smile, nodding happily. I'm never one to disagree when it comes to discussing my brother's...genius ideas.

"But back to you." He looks at me sternly, and I have to fight the urge to squirm nervously. "Why so tired?"

"Insomnia?" I offer with a innocent shrug, feigning interest in the cup of pencils resting on his desk.

"You mean Ashley?"

My eyes widen as I look at him, just enough to catch his gaze before I glance away, face warming. I take one of the pencils out and roll it between my fingers. "What about her?"

"Oh nothing really," he says nonchalantly, wearing an amused smile as he watches me maneuver the pencil. "It just seems you guys spend a lot of time together."

I hold the pencil between my hands, flexing my knuckles. "I guess."

"But what do I know?" He walks over to his file cabinet. "I'm just going by what all Ashley tells me."

The pencil snaps, and I jump suddenly, surprised. I didn't realize I was gripping it so hard. I look up to find my dad smirking at me.

"You okay?" He asks smugly.

"Yeah, just uh..." I hold up the two parts of the pencil. "You need to get some sturdier pencils," I finish lamely, rolling my eyes at myself.

"Of course," he agrees easily, smile still in place. "I'm glad you showed me. How horrible it would have been had that happened to me while I was writing an important document." He gasps dramatically. "Or worse, if my boss was here!"

I allow him to see my eye roll. "Alright, alright, I get it."

He leans down close to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I do too," he says softly, giving me a soft, tender smile.

I feel my body tense uncertainly. "Do you?" I need to know if he really does, because I don't think I can say whatever it is.

"I do." He nods and squeezes my shoulder softly, before turning back to the filing cabinet.

I know this is my cue to let him get back to work. It's not a rude dismissal, just a reminder. I walk over to him and kiss him on the cheek, smiling gratefully. "Bye Dad. I love you." And I do. So much.

I watch another soft smile appear. "I love you too. And Spencer?" I tilt my head, prodding him to continue. "I think you should come over for dinner again soon. Maybe bring some one?"

I laugh at his obvious hint, but I find myself easily agreeing. "Sure Dad. I just might do that."

"Bye kiddo."

My smile remains as I head to my car. It doesn't matter that I didn't see Ashley, which, I have to admit, was my true reason for coming. I could have easily text her, but for some reason I like not knowing if I'm going to randomly see her. It's a pleasant surprise when I do see her, even though when I don't see her, I always feel disappointed and a little upset that she wasn't there, as if we had made plans that she broke.

I can't help it though. I always feel something about Ashley. Lately they've been far from disappointment, instead focused on thoughts a lot more light and fuzzy. Feelings I don't think I've had in about ten years.

That night at her apartment was...indescribable. Or maybe it's the fact that I know exactly how to describe it that makes it so much more scary. Because we all like to think that something doesn't become dangerous until you label it, right? That's when it becomes concrete. An addiction. Something beyond our control.

How is it possible that everything changes, and yet, at the same time, nothing does? Like you expect the world to undergo a metamorphosis, simply for the reason that you have.

As I stare at my apartment building, watching the same people go through their same routines, I'm relieved, knowing I'm different. Knowing I don't have that consistency, and loving it.

Knowing that I have Ashley.

And loving it.

* * *

Ashley and I haven't hung out since that night at her apartment. It's been a week, and though we've both been swamped with different things, it hasn't made it any easier. Not to mention that none of what happened has been spoken of again.

If I wasn't aware of how screwed up my realities can be, I'd make a joke about the possibility of me dreaming that conversation.

That, and I'm still afraid it might be true.

I actually did have some time to call her to hang out, but I was so nervous to initiate it, I completely chickened out, instead spending the evening watching back to back Dog Shows. I was quite the partier, as you can see.

She text me a few minutes ago, begging me to save her from killing her roommates by inviting her over. With a smile that was too huge to be even remotely attractive, I eagerly welcomed her over and then set about, once again, cleaning my apartment.

It never is that dirty, but I like to think it helps take my mind off of her. I also like to think that I'm a decent liar.

Ashley knocks on my door, and I open it the same way I always do; pretending like I wasn't stalking the door, waiting for her arrival.

My eyes quickly scan over her before she pulls me to her in a crushing hug. She looks good, as always."God I was going crazy!" she mumbles into my shoulder, squeezing me harder.

I smile widely, trying - and failing - to remind myself she was going crazy from her roommates, not from not seeing me.

When she steps back from me, I smile at her, simply because I can. Ashley returns it effortlessly, reaching toward me and surprising me by hitting me on the shoulder.

"Ow," I mumble, rubbing my shoulder. "What was that for?"

"Sorry." She grins sheepishly. "I just figured bodily harm usually occurs when we hang out, so I wanted to get it out of the way."

I nod, like what she said wasn't completely silly. "Of course. Makes sense." And really, it does. I don't want another concussion.

"So what fun do you have planned for tonight?" Ashley asks, picking up an old magazine and plopping down on the couch. The sight makes me smile.

I offer her a shrug, having no set plan. Usually we just wing it, but tonight, I feel preoccupied, like something is tickling the back of my mind, just at the tip of my consciousness. "The usual."

Ashley peers at me over the magazine. "So, a wild raging party followed by strippers?"

"Exactly," I manage out between laughs, releasing an unexpected snort. My face immediately reddens.

"There's no need to be embarrassed," she tells me. "Of course _I _never snort, but I'm sure some people do." She flips a page and turns the magazine sideways, tilting her head as well.

"Thanks," I say with a light chuckle, "I feel much better."

Walking over to the couch, I plop down next to her. "What are you looking at, a centerfold?"

"You bet," she says seriously, turning the magazine so I can look at it. "Look at the body on that hottie."

I smile when I see it's a fold out picture of a golden retriever. "I swear it's not mine!"

"Uh huh," she replies, unconvinced. "Let me guess, it's Granny owl eyes' magazine?"

She's referring to my annoying, elderly neighbor. We call her Granny Owl Eyes because she has the biggest, thickest glasses known to man. They might as well be windshield for as huge as they are.

As I snatch the magazine away from her, she gasps dramatically, causing me to smile. "I'm sorry, but I'm cutting you off."

Ashley gives an impressive pout. "That's my last one, I promise!"

I shake my head, crossing my arms. "Nope, sorry. You'll have to survive on terrible MTV dramas."

Sighing loudly, Ashley sniffles and grabs remote, flicking on the TV. "Okay," she says in a small voice. "But I won't like it."

I smile and pat her shoulder. "That's a trooper."

* * *

Two hours later, we're both staring at the screen like zombies. Little conversation has passed, though neither of us has minded. We've been weirdly absorbed in the show.

"So..." Ashley begins slowly, causing me to finally remove my eyes from the screen. "You think we have any brain cells left?"

"Huh?" I grunt out, eyes back on the show.

She smiles and looks at me. "Exactly."

Smiling sheepishly, I turn back to her and shove her. "Shut up."

With pursed lips, she tilts her head. "Okay. ...Zombie." She smiles.

"That's it!" I wrestle her for the remote, yelling triumphantly when I manage to yank it from her and turn off the horrible program.

I only have a few seconds to celebrate before I'm swiftly hit with a pillow. When I turn to Ashley to stare at her, she's sitting all prim and proper, staring straight ahead.

"What?" she asks innocently.

"Nothing." I grab the pillow beside me and hit her with it in the face, messing her hair up slightly. The sight makes me smile.

Ashley doesn't retaliate, but we both sit in silence, smiles on our faces at our goofiness. It doesn't escape my notice that we're sitting closer, sides pressed together. I'm sure Ashley notices, but she hasn't said anything, assuring me that maybe she likes the tingling sensation as much as I do.

My hands are resting on my thighs, and as I look down, I notice my right hand seems to be leaning towards her. I don't know if it's intentional or not. Maybe just hopeful.

Just thinking about her touching my hand again causes my body to thrum in anticipation, my entire being hyper aware of everything that is Ashley. Her alluring scent. Her intoxicating warmth.

It's only after a few minutes that I realize we are sitting in the darkness, TV off and neither of us talking. I bite back a smile when I realize neither of us has said anything, obviously not minding.

Ashley grabs her phone and sends a message, and I push down the disappointment I feel. Maybe she isn't content sitting in silence.

Seconds later, I'm surprised by my phone going off. I reach over and grab it, rolling my eyes as I can already imagine the text my mom has sent me. As I go to my messages, I'm pleasantly surprised to see I have a message from Ashley. I open it up, smiling stupidly when I read 'Hi.'

I release a small laugh, quickly typing 'Hey' in response. I wait in excited anxiousness for the message to travel to her phone, watching her expectantly to gauge her reaction. The smile I receive in return doesn't cause mine to fade at all.

"You know," she says, smile evident, "we could just talk like normal people."

"You started it," I point out, elbowing her gently with a smile.

"Pansy," she mutters under her breath.

I laugh at this. "Pansy? Did you just call me a pansy?"

Ashley bites her lip, obviously hiding a smile. "I might have," she says mysteriously.

"I can't believe you called me a pansy," I say through more laughter. "I don't think anyone other than my brother has called me that."

She shrugs. "If the shoe fits..."

I shove her again. "You are so weird!"

"Says the girl who tried to give me an outfit that was obviously hers."

I feel myself blush. So she knew all along? Well fuck, that's embarrassing.

"Sorry," I mumble, unsure of how I can smoothly save myself. I'm resigning the fact that there is no saving grace.

"Don't be," she assures me softly. "I thought it was cute."

She's not looking at me, and I've never been so thankful. I don't know what would happen if she looked at me now.

Now I feel awkward, wanting to say so much, but not knowing how. Part of me is hoping Ashley takes the lead again. Another part is hoping she does look at me, just so I can know what will happen.

"You want to know something?" Ashley continues, maybe to halt the silence, or maybe because she really does have something to say.

Either way, my interest has been piqued, and I shit until I can face her, doing my best to act casual. "What's that?"

She leans closer to me, and I feel my heart beat quicken, body coming alive deliciously. I watch, dumbfounded, as her hand reaches over until it's grasping mine. "I really love your hands."

The hand she's holding feels so detached from me, that I have to keep my eyes on it to make sure it really is a part of me. "Yeah, you told me that before," I whisper.

"Yeah?" I nod. "Well I really do." She flips my hand over, tracing over my palm with a feather-light touch. It makes my breath catch. "They're like, so...I don't know...perfect?" She gives a soft laugh. "I mean I don't really know how to rate hands, you know, but they're just..."

Ashley looks at me and smiles shyly. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

I shake my head quickly. "No, no, you are!" And she is, because I understand so well what she's saying – or not saying. And as perfect as she thinks my hands are, her words are that, and so much more.

And I don't think my hands are perfect, just that maybe...maybe they're perfect for hers. But I don't tell her that, simply because I'm afraid of how it will come out, or what place it will unknowingly thrust us into.

"Yeah?" She smiles.

I return it easily. "Yeah," I echo softly, trying to remember if there was a time that we weren't whispering to each other.

If there was, I don't care to think of it.

* * *

Ashley left with another hug, leaving me to wonder if the endurance of this embrace was significant or simply coincidental.

The look in her eyes when I leaned in and gave her a brave kiss on the cheek has left me with a warmth I'm convinced will never fade. At least now my ever-present smile will have company.

"Where've you been?" she asks quietly, no accusation in her tone, and it is that that causes me to shift guiltily.

"Sorry," I mumble out.

"It's okay," she says with a smile, patting the space next to her. "I've just missed you."

My insides squirm again. She's obviously forgiven me. I make my way over to her, sitting beside her, but with space between us.

Ashley eyes it for a moment before looking back at me, sadly. "I really have missed you, you know."

I feel my eyes beginning to burn, a sure sign of tears. "I know," I whisper.

She brings a hand to my shoulder, squeezing softly. "I don't think I can let you go," she tells me, beginning a soft rubbing on my bicep.

A few tears fall from my eyes. "I know," I choke out, forcing myself to keep her gaze.

Her hand shifts to my face, holding it as she leans in and presses a delicate kiss to my tear stained cheek before she presses a barely there kiss on my lips. She doesn't linger, and it tears a broken sob from me.

She grabs my other hand and holds my ring up to my face. "You belong to me," she whispers softly. "You do."

"I know," I echo.

Ashley gives me a sad smile, releasing a tired laugh. "You're going to go back to her."

I finally let my gaze fall to the ground, just as the tears fall freely. I throw my arms around her, holding her close. Offering her a silent apology.

"I know."


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N**: I really have no excuse. I never expected it to be so long in between chapters. I just have been blissfully distracted by other people's brilliant stories and by real life. I hope this chapter makes up for it, and I will do my best not to take so freaking long. I know first hand how annoying it is to wait on stories you'd like to see finished. I big, big, thank you to all who continue to give love to this story. It may not seem like a lot, but you guys really do motivate me beyond belief.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 13**

I've been compensating for my previous lack of sleep. Lately I've been sleeping in, something I never knew I was capable of. It's as if my guilt from my last dream has shifted from a heavy weight on my heart, to one on my eyes, keeping them closed as long as possible.

Ashley asks me to hang out, a lot, and I find myself declining. I find comfort in being able to control that aspect of my life, even though I want nothing more than to spend time with her. Conflictingly, however, I don't think I can survive any more encounters with her. Surely my heart will explode if I see her again.

It's been hard enough sporadically answering her texts and calls, and now it seems my dad has been recruited; his calls have become more frequent and less filled with mindless small talk. Ashley is always the main subject, and while I thrive on any information on her, it never seems to lessen the ache in my heart, only sharpen it, as if it was slowly numbing until some one twisted the knife. Of course the knife is self-placed, and though it hurts, I keep it there for a reason.

This, whatever Ashley and I have, has gone way over my head. I never expected to feel so strongly for her, and I never expected to feel so connected with her counterpart, dream Ashley, either. Because if not for my dreams, how would I have ever met Ashley? I might have passed her randomly some time down the line, but how would I already know that I was drawn to her?

The point of questioning how I even came to dream of Ashley has long been passed, instead replaced with the question of how I ever made it without knowing either Ashley.

As my phone rings, displaying my parents' number, I don't fight back the sigh as I slide my finger to answer. "Hello."

"Spencer?" my mother asks, apparently under the impression that some one else would be answering my phone.

Again I don't restrain my sigh. "Of course it is, Mom."

I hear muffled background noise, causing me to roll my eyes in annoyance. It's always like that whenever she calls. As soon as I hear her voice, a switch is flipped, and my patience and calmness vanish.

"Sorry," she mumbles distractedly. A random button is pressed, causing me to jump in surprise. "Oops, sorry again."

"What did you want?" I don't have time for her stalling. I hate when she calls and takes forever to get to the point.

"What?" I know she's blinking in confusion. "Oh, yes, my reason for calling. I wanted to know if you were coming for dinner tonight?"

My eyes flick to the calendar on my refrigerator. "You do realize it's Tuesday?" Family dinners have always been on Thursdays. Always. I was always convinced the world would explode if it happened on any other day.

"Yes, Spencer, I'm well aware." I smile as I hear her agitated tone. "Anyway, you're invited tonight. Your father said you'd been rather lonely, and, well, I know you don't have any friends..."

I wait for it.

"Or a boyfriend," she continues. Ah, there it is. "So I know you can make it."

I finish my eye roll and follow it by glancing around my empty apartment. "I'll think about it," I offer, knowing I'll go but needing to have some semblance of self-sufficiency.

My mom claps her hands together excitedly, dropping the phone and earning a small smile from me. "Oooo I cannot wait to see you!"

"I said I'd think about it," I remind her.

"See you soon, Kiddo," my father pipes in, smug smile carried through the line as he hangs up after a swift goodbye.

I roll my eyes, this time at myself, and check the time on my phone, wondering if it'd look bad if I headed to my house this early. Deciding that I've already lost any credibility, I grab my purse and send a quick message on my phone – my lame attempt at salvaging.

With a longing look at my bed, I force myself out my door and into the parking lot, mentally preparing myself for the emotional evening I've just signed up for.

I can only hope there will be alcohol, and lots of it.

* * *

As I pull into the driveway, I can't help but sigh at the lack of another vehicle. It's what I expected, but I still feel disappointed, though mostly at myself. Checking my phone one last time, just to ensure I haven't some how managed to miss a text or call with how intently I've been staring at it the past hour, I lock my screen and drag myself out of my car.

I don't bother knocking this time, and as soon as I open the door, I'm tackled backwards, only to be caught at the last second before my skull connects with the porch.

"Yo sis!" Glen's butchered gangster talk rings through my ear.

Once he's set me upright, I firmly punch him in the shoulder. "Yo bro. What's with the front door ambush?"

He shrugs. "Why not? Of course it would have been awkward had it not been you, but it worked out nicely." He claps his hands together and then offers his arm in a gentleman fashion. "Shall we make our way into the dining hall, mi' lady?"

I stifle a laugh and take his offered arm. "Let us make haste, good sir."

We head to the kitchen, chuckling along the way, until Glen purposely steers me into the wall. With a quick smile, he hastily retreats, cackling as he runs into the living room. He pokes his head around the corner just in time to see me flip him my middle finger. It only makes him smile wider.

Through the throbbing in my head, I smile fondly, having missed my ass of a brother. He always has been good at distracting me, and judging by the lack of response on my phone, a distraction is exactly what I need.

"Hey honey," my dad says happily as he swoops down and gives me a kiss on my head, conveniently in the spot Glen smashed into the wall. I can't help but smile tenderly, wondering – and not caring – if it was intentional or not that he kissed that same area.

"Spencer's here?"

This time I keep my eye roll internal as I hear my mom's voice. It would be a lot easier to refrain if she didn't ask such dumb questions.

"Yeah mom, I'm here," I answer anyway, maybe from the slight guilt I feel about my thoughts.

A crash sounds from the kitchen, followed by a loud "Shit!" My dad and I trade concerned, amused glances before stepping further from the crime scene. Mom doesn't often curse, so when she does, we are often on edge. Combine that with the fact that it's something dealing with the food, and I know I'm going to be a little wary about eating tonight.

"Spencer." I turn to face my dad, raising my eyebrows. "Would you go get the mail for me? We forgot to get it earlier." He keeps glancing toward the front door.

"Sure," I say slowly, cautiously, peering through the glass of the door to see what apparently has my farther so concerned. "Any reason you don't want to go out?"

He looks stumped for a second, making him seem even more suspicious. "You can either help Mom in the kitchen or get the mail."

"Mail sounds good, thanks."

He smiles triumphantly. "Thought you'd say that."

Walking to the door, I whistle to myself pleasantly. I tripped Glen as he was walking by, causing him to stumble into the couch and flip over it, landing on the ground with a loud _oomph_. I felt a little bad, but not enough to hide my laughter and smug smile. Or to stick my tongue out at him.

Once out the door, my heart stops as I find Ashley standing a few feet away from the door, staring at me nervously. We maintain eye contact for several seconds, made even more awkward by the silence we're engaged in.

"You came," I say softly, surprised to hear myself speak, if not a little embarrassed by me pointing out the obvious.

I watch with interest as her lips turn up, just a small curve, as she gives me a beautiful, small smile. "I did."

We stand in silence again before I laugh quietly at us and step the few feet forward until I can pull her into a warm embrace. I can feel the sighs escape us, and I relish in the shared relief as her arms hold me tightly.

"I'm sorry," I murmur into her soft hair, letting each tendril caress my lips.

She shakes her head lightly but doesn't speak, and I know I'm forgiven, if I wasn't already. I feel her head shift, and my breath catches when I feel her cheek rested against my own, the warmth and softness of it causing small tremors to course through me.

I don't know how long we stay like this, arms wrapped around each other, cheeks pressed together, but I know I could do it forever. And even though part of me is reaching for more, just daring me to turn my head ever so slightly, I don't.

Instead, I grab her hand, running my thumb over her smooth knuckles. "I love your hands."

I watch as she steps back and stares at me intently, finding great significance in her echoed words. "Why?" she finally says, holding our held hands up to inspect. "They're so..."

My fingers shift until they're intertwined with hers. "Perfect?" I offer, squeezing her hand for emphasis.

Ashley smiles and then shifts her gaze from our hands to my face. "Yeah," she agrees quietly. "Perfect."

We both know she's not talking about our hands. Or, at least, not _just _our hands.

* * *

My dad does his best to act surprised by Ashley's arrival, but I'm not fooled. Perhaps a little unnerved that he's investing so much time into Ashley and me, yet...also a little flattered.

Mom is her usual self, interrogating Ashley about what she's been up to, demanding updates of her personal life, and acting simple appalled that Ashley hasn't found a boyfriend yet. She obviously misses the way Ashley politely deflects her questions, but I don't. I hang out ever single word, eager for any sort of insight.

I'm not stupid, I know what happened outside was mas meaningful, I'm just not sure what meaning it had. Not yet.

And Glen...Glen is...well Glen. He raises his eyebrows at Ashley appreciatively, even being so bold as to grab her hand and kiss it. Mom squeals, delighted, and I resist the urge to punch him in the groin for being so cheeky. As harmless as it is, it gets under my skin, and I make sure to keep my eye on him throughout dinner. Well, as best as I can while still watching Ashley.

"Would you like some milk, Spencer?" my mother asks formally, making me stare at her. I don't know why she's pretending to be Martha Stewart, but it was really annoying. As are most things she does.

"No thank you, mother," I answer back smartly, smiling as I see Ashley shake her head at me with a disapproving smirk.

"Come on, it's good for you," Glen pipes in, shoving his huge glass of milk in front of me. "Good for your teeth and all that."

"So is brushing your teeth, and I haven't seen you latch on to that," I shoot back, feeling quite pleased with myself.

Ashley snorts into her milk and avoids eye contact as we all stop to stare at her. "Sorry," she finally says, after wiping the milk off her face. Her cheeks still held a faint hint or red, but it looked cute.

Dinner passes enjoyably enough, and even though Glen pisses me off, I am very glad he came tonight. I'm very glad I came tonight.

I'm beyond ecstatic that Ashley came tonight, though that goes without saying.

We're back outside now, Ashley and I. My mother surprised me by giving me a warm hug that held none of its normal awkwardness. I surprised myself by feeling my eyes sting as I pulled away from her. It was even more shocking to smile for some one other than Ashley these days.

Side by side we walk to her car, arms brushing frequently, eyes averted quickly, and smiles present constantly. As we near her vehicle, I feel the tingling nervousness appear. It's never felt so good before; none of this has.

It's the moment when you know you're going to kiss, but it still makes you burn with anxiousness and hold it off as long as possible. When you both find random topics to discuss, even as you both drift closer and closer.

When you feel disappointed as for the second time you lean in to her, she pulls back, only to smile at you coyly. And as saddened as you feel by the rejection, her twinkling eyes and bit lip just make you fall that much faster.

As her perfect hands reach up to frame my face, and a thumb gently strokes my cheek even as she holds me in place, I know I won't move to kiss her again.

But only because I know that this time, she's going to kiss me.

And she does, moistening her lips just seconds before.

And if I thought her hands were perfect, they in noway compare to her lips. And though I think her lips are perfect, it in no way compares to how perfect they are pressed against my own.

Her soft mouth gently moves against my own, emanating sparks with each brush. Stealing a breath with every touch.

With a soft whimper I lean closer to her, feeling my already unsteady breathing shake a little more, panting softly in desperation. I open my mouth, pressing forward to urge her to do the same, begging for more contact, and sighing when she acquiesces.

I can feel the want in both of us, screaming at us to deepen the contact, to put ourselves out of our misery. But somehow, it's so easily drowned out by the absolute perfection of this kiss. Our first kiss.

Neither of us wants it to be about lust, or all about want. It is simply inevitable.

Simply perfect.

She gives me one last lingering kiss and then pulls away slowly, breathing short, unsteady breaths into the quiet night. I smile knowing mine is the exact same way. My lips are just as swollen, my eyes just as unfocused and unguarded. My heart as vulnerable as ever.

And as her eyes fall down to my chest, I know it's not to be perverted. She's seeing where my heart used to be, before it went to her.

* * *

That night I dreamed of her. I'd love to say I dreamt about our kiss.

I wish I could say it wasn't a nightmare.

I can't.

We left our apartment to go to dinner, both us talking comfortably about our days. I smiled as she grabbed my hand naturally, studying it carefully as she does every time. Her eyes went back to the road, head nodding in time with the beat pounding through the speakers. Often our eyes met, lips smiling at each other as we both fought of the desire to kiss right then.

I gave in, leaning across the console to press a loud kiss to her neck. I watched in delight as she swallowed thickly, turning to me with darkened eyes. Her finger shook at me disapprovingly and she opened her mouth, presumably to say something.

Lights flashed through my window, and I didn't think anything of it.

Not until a horn blared and a car collided with my side of the car, cutting off any sound other than my high pitched scream.

Then everything went black.

I woke up after that, in an unfamiliar bed, faintly aware of a beeping noise. As I shifted to look around, a tugging at my arm alerted me to the source. Hooked up to my arm was a long, narrow tube, with a needle imbedded in my skin, held in place by a small piece of tap.

With another loud scream I woke up, for real, drenched in sweat and shaking violently, but finally in my own bed.

I stay awake the rest of the night, too scared to even attempt sleep. The dream is too fresh, and too life-like, and if I look at my arm closely enough, I can still picture the IV there, pulsing liquid through my veins.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: _So remember me, I once updated a story like 4 months ago...? Well I really have no legitimate excuse. I've been lazy, busy, and then completely enthralled by Glee - fanfiction and tv show. If you want some amazing stories to read, check out the Quinn/Rachel (Faberry) pairings. It's nothing short of amazing. So after suffering major, major, MAJOR writers block, and after starting to write my own attemp at a Faberry story (totally WIP) I finally forced myself to write this. I hope it flows, considering it's been so long, and I hope, more than that, that it somehow compensates for the hiatus. Happy reading, and may there not be too many mistakes - I'll edit it tomorrow perhaps._

_And for a future warning - though I'm not sure how many chapters are left in this story - there will be less light, fluffy time, and more heavy with the suspense and Spencer losing more of her mind. Hopefully it doesn't put you off, for it is and will be a Spashley story._

* * *

**Chapter 14**

My foot itches to move, but I've firmly planted it on the ground, only to stop my nervous shuffling. I can instantly think of about ten other places I wish I was, and about seven other people I wish I was talking to; however, here I am, about to have a conversation with my mother.

I've spent countless hours – usually the ones where I'm insomniacally awake – thinking of other options, only to come to the uncomfortable realization that there are few others. Not that this gives me any comfort, I just figured talking to a stranger about my problems would be a safe bet, and what better stranger than my own mother who has a fancy psychology degree.

"Mom," I huff out in frustration, trying – and failing – to bring her attention from General Hospital to me and my problem.

Her slim face turns to me apologetically, though I still see her eyes fixed on the screen. "Sorry honey, this is just the part where we find out-"

"Yeah yeah," I cut in with annoyance, "you find out if Javier is really Jessica's father or if she's actually Caleb's child, only to realize that Jessica is actually a boy and that Caleb is her dead sister's lover."

This successfully captures my mother's attention. She stares at me for a moment before smiling slightly, if not a bit condescendingly. "Sweetie, those people aren't on this show. You must be getting it confused with another soap you watch."

Me, watch soaps? I don't even try to hold in my scoff. This is why I don't converse with Paula. PhD or not, she seems to cause problems more than alleviate...at least for me.

Despite this, I've acknowledged that it's now or never, even if never is looking sweeter with each second that passes.

"Do you think there's a certain credibility to dreams?" I ask her, now that I've some what calmed down and can see that she's set the DVR for her show, ensuring she can turn it off. I'm actually impressed she knows how to work the TV other than changing the volume levels.

Paula looks at me strangely, as if she's trying to decipher a hidden meaning in my question. "Like what?"

I roll my eyes. Isn't she the psychologist? "Like..." I gesture wildly. "I don't know, like you hear all these stories about people having dreams end up coming true."

"Like psychics and clairvoyancy and all that?"

A frustrated groan leaves my mouth, though for once, it's not directed at her, but rather myself, because I can hear how stupid this will sound.

"Yeah," I answer with some embarrassment. "I mean nothing like being able to predict the future, but like...just you dream something, and it happens to come true. If that makes sense." I add, seeing the weird look she's giving me.

"You know," she offers, sitting down on the couch, but not before carefully placing the remote on the arm, "as much as dreams and the subconscious are studied, there is still so much we don't know."

She must have seen my crestfallen expression, because she opens her mouth to say more. "But it's often found that dreams reflect subconscious desires. That's been the general consensus for pretty much the history of psychology. If you think about a certain subject so much, you're bound to dream about it."

I take this information in, trying to find any sort of comfort in it. As usual, I find myself disappointed with my mother.

"Okay, I know that. But what about it being the other way around."

Paula squints at me and tilts her head. "What do you mean?"

My head turns away from her, already knowing this is going to certify me as crazy - or more crazy than before - in my mothers eyes.

"What if you dream about something and then it happens? What if you've had this same type of dream over and over again, and finally, it comes true. What does that mean?" I want to tell her about my dreams about Ashley, but I'm not ready to share that part with anyone. I don't care if it makes me crazier, I just can't do it.

She regards me carefully. Slowly. "So...you're saying a dream has come to life? In a sense," she adds, purely for my benefit.

I clasp my hands together and nod, relieved to have been asked a yes or no question.

"Hmm," she says thoughtfully, and then she reaches over and puts a timid hand on my shoulder. "Sounds to me like maybe it's fate."

This time I stare at her, watching her familiar eyes intently, barely acknowledging that this is the first time I've looked my mom in the eyes in a long time; I can't dwell on that now.

All I'm focusing on is the dread. The inevitable.

"Spencer?" she calls out softly, though her concern is loud and clear. "Honey?"

I don't respond as I run out the door to my car, furiously wiping the tears away once I'm seated in the sanctuary of my locked vehicle. I'm not surprised my mother hasn't followed me. If anything, I'm grateful.

She's confirmed what I already feared. She's just zoomed in on the clock I already had ticking in my mind.

It's only a matter of time, I tell myself, glancing down to where the IV's ghost scar is resting over my vein. The car beeps as I put my keys into the ignition, and I'm reminded of another beep I'll soon hear, left to wonder if it's a temporary precaution or it's sustaining me. Neither offers comfort.

* * *

Ashley's smile threatens to take over her whole face as I open the door to let her into my apartment. I admit (happily) to be wearing the same smile.

Her eyes twinkle as she steps closer, and I chastise myself at the nervousness coursing through me, reminding myself that I am twenty four years old _and_ have been kissed before. It does little to change things.

"I missed you," Ashley says simply, making me jealous that her words can be so simple and perfect, while I struggle to find anything to say to her.

Throwing caution and hesitancy to the wind, I close the final step to her and wrap my arms around her, She laughs contently into my shoulder, not needing to ask if I missed her. With a warm kiss pressed to my cheek, she steps back and holds my gaze, smiling so tender that had I not been this close, I would have somehow missed its full effect.

"Want to grab some lunch?" She dangles her keys in front of me with a playful smile. "I promise to stay within 20mph of the speed limit."

I offer a small, polite smile, praying the bile that's risen up my throat stays down. "Let's just eat here," I suggest hopefully, pressing my lips against hers in a move as brave as it is desperate.

"K," she breathes hotly against my mouth, arms wrapping around me once again.

Forgetting to be grateful for her easy acceptance, I lose myself in the pleasant humming of my body as it presses wantonly against hers, aching for more. Her lips rub softly against mine at first, the tenderness making my lips quirk up momentarily before her tongue sweeps across it, stealing away any lingering gentleness and air.

I moan hoarsely as she presses me into the door, her dominance and eagerness flooding me with more warmth and confidence as I happily acquaint her tongue with my own. I'm thankful for the door's support when she breathes harshly into my mouth, the sound and rush of hot air making me weak as I press closer to her body.

Ashley's hands make their way up my arms to my face, cradling gently as she suddenly gentles the kiss. We part seconds later, and I can't help but feel embarrassed and disappointed, if not extremely shy for my boldness, somehow convinced I scared her off.

"Sorry," I say quickly, needing to say something in explanation, as if I was the one who pulled away.

"Yeah you should be. That was just terrible." I don't need to look up to see her smart ass smile. The one she manages to make look adorable. She leans in close to me and presses a sweet kiss on my lips, stepping back with a shy grin like we weren't just practically dry humping each other against my door.

Her soft hand gently grabs my wrist and pulls me towards the kitchen, a move I find completely sexy as I see how comfortable she is in my apartment. She releases me and walks over to the pantry, standing on her tippy toes to look in the highest shelf. "So, you sure you don't want to go out? You really don't have a lot here."

I try to stop my breath from catching as adrenaline pumps through my veins at her words. After my latest dreams, I'd rather not go anywhere near a car with her. The only problem is, I'm unsure how to convey that to her without sounding like a bitch or a complete lunatic.

"What do you mean I don't have a lot?" I make my way beside her, pulling out the box of Hamburger Helper for emphasis. "I have plenty. Look," I press the box into her face, causing her to squeal and shift away with a smile, "it makes six servings. We can even invite Owl Eyes."

She takes the box from me with an amused shake of her head, getting out the necessary items to prepare it. As I open my mouth to speak, she cuts me off. "Yeah, yeah, don't forget the extra cheese." I watch her turn back around and focus on cooking and can't help but smile stupidly.

She just gets me.

* * *

Even though we don't eat until about an hour later, it is worth the embarrassing noises my stomach makes in impatience. Especially when Ashley bites her lip and smiles at me, holding back her obvious desire to tease me.

After cleaning up, we find ourselves in our normal positions, taking up the love seat, some random channel flickering on the screen. We skip our usual hesitant dance and immediately interlock fingers, bodies shifting rest on each other enough to cause a nice heat and friction.

"Next time we're going to go out for lunch and make other people cook for us and serve us." She holds up our joined hands. "These beauties weren't meant to work."

I do my best to offer a smile, praying that the bile I can taste coming up doesn't force its way any higher. I wonder if she can feel the sudden pulse I feel flicker through my body as my gaze falls down to my wrist. As if she senses my gaze, Ashley flips my wrist over, delicately mapping the skin there, ghosting over the imaginary tracks. I watch in horrific fascination as her fingers move up to the inside of my elbow, tracing the feigned path of the IV in my dreams.

I clench my eyes shut and lean in to her, anything to avoid looking in the eyes I've concluded are the most beautiful color I've ever seen – barring all thoughts of being biased. I'm afraid of finding her concerned, confused look. I'm afraid of having to explain myself.

I'm afraid of having to give her up to prevent it all from happening.

Mainly, I'm afraid that I will give her up.

* * *

As I kiss Ashley goodbye (an hour later than she originally planned on leaving), I try to ignore the hurt look she hides when I don't walk her out to her car. I give a lame excuse of it being cold, and it falls as flat as her polite laughter. I just can't be near her car right now, not when the only thing echoing in my brain is the sound of a car horn blaring and breaks screeching.

I manage to block it out long enough to gather my wits and courage as I practically leap off the top step to my door and spring the short distance to her. To say I've got her off guard is an understatement, as her chocolate eyes widen cutely before a small smile finally breaks free. "Not too cold?" she quips smartly, sucking on her tongue and raising an eyebrow.

My feet step forward, closing the remaining distance between us, and then my arms are encircling her and pulling her close as my lip touch hers in a lingering kiss.

"Not anymore."

She gives me a last smile and a final kiss, waving like a (cute) fool as she backs out, me fighting back the urge to scream at her to watch the road.

When I hear a faint car horn echoing in the distance, I have to repeatedly tell myself that it's nothing, or, at the very least, some one other than Ashley. I feel nothing at this thought, only a slight sickness as I feel relieved, knowing that my own safety is ensured for another day.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: _Yay, a new chapter in under 4 months. That's right, be impressed. I want to thank (again) all my amazing, lovely readers. I'm honored to still have so many fans out there, despite the frustrations of waiting and this story in general. One of you said you were becoming a little put off by the "darkness" of this story, and I want to let you (and everyone) know that while it will have less fluffy content in certain parts, Spencer is not going to be depressed and moody the whole time. Yes, there will be light and dark moments because Spencer is confused as hell, and since this is her PoV, I want the story to reflect that. Spencer is just as clueless as you readers, and is unfortunately being dragged through my story's ups and downs for no reason other than mine (and hopefully, your) entertainment._

_Also, one of you, dear readers, are very very perceptive, and I'm honestly shocked - and impressed - at what you have come up with for a theory of what's going on. Not going to give anything away, but I hope what actually happens is on par with what you think should happen or is happening to Spencer. So with that being said, guess away, theorize, hypothesize, and any other words that mean the same thing. _

_This chapter, while I really like it, feels...kinda of rush. Not in the time it took to type it, but perhaps time-line speaking. But regardless, I feel good about it, and I hope you like it. Enjoy!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 15**

You remember those times during your teenage years when you snuck out of the house, quiet as a mouse, to engage in activities obviously not approved by your parents, and then return in the wee hours of the morning in triumphant, knowing you pulled a fast one, only to wake up later that day and realize your parents were on to you the whole time? That's how I feel right now at my dad's office, what with him staring at me with a smug smirk on his warm face as he asks me how Ashley and I are doing.

I'd normally have a lie formed by now, but I'm finding myself completely flabbergasted. That's the thing about thinking you're so sneaky; when you get caught, it just rocks your whole world. Although I probably would have had a better chance of deflecting the conversation had Ashley not just walked in, declaring that we are, in fact, "Doing wonderful." Complete with a happy smile thrown my way.

If I thought I was going to be able to speak after my dad's revelation, I'm doomed now after Ashley's interjection. We haven't discussed - at least in great lengths - how we planned on defining our relationship. Honestly, I thought it seemed a bit high school-ish to be fretting over what label to wear. And not to mention the fact that I was too nervous to ask what exactly we were. So hearing Ashley openly define us, especially in front of my dad, her boss, has rendered me speechless.

My dad steps toward Ashley, and I have a horrible flashback of him meeting my boyfriends. He even does his patented hand-on-the-shoulder. I'm so embarrassed.

He takes me by surprise when he places another hand on her other shoulder and pulls her into a quick hug. "Glad to hear it. I figured it had to be something."

"Why's that?" Ashley asks, sending me a cute, sheepish smile before turning back to my dad.

"Well besides this one's ever present glow-" he gestures his thumb to me, causing me to blush. "You're work ethic has been through the roof these pasts months." I take great pleasure in watching a matching flush appear on her tan cheeks. "I should have known there was a reason for you getting your work done fast and leaving early. But had I known you were heading to Spencer's, I would have caught a ride with you."

"Dad," I mutter in mortification. The last thing I want is for my father to come over to my apartment when Ashley's there. It's bad enough having them work together. Call me paranoid, but I can't help but picturing them sitting in the office together, exchanging stories of me.

Oh God!

I look between my dad and Ashley. I can only imagine the childhood stories he's been entertaining her with. Cute child I most definitely was not. And I went through a nasty, unhealthy phase where I refused to bathe, convinced – thanks to Glen – that the creature from the Black Lagoon was going to climb up through the drain and get me. It lasted a week, and only because I came home from elementary school one day and was ambushed by my mom wielding the garden hose and Dad holding shampoo.

At Ashley's cheshire grin, I can't help but think that she's been told this story. I shoot my dad a look, making sure to convey my absolute unappreciation. He holds his hands up in placation, though it's easily disregarded by his huge smile. But knowing that he approves and accepts my relationship with Ashley, I find that I don't mind all that much. Especially when he allows her to take the rest of the day off.

* * *

"So sorry about that in there," Ashley says after a long moment of silence. "I know we hadn't really talked about what we were, but...well my dad's dead, and, I don't know, I just really wanted to tell your dad..."

"And I'm sorry if that, like, overstepped some unspoken boundary, because, again, we hadn't talked about that, but I really like you dad, and I wanted him to know, because I _had_ to tell some one, and he's my boss and I see him every day..." She looks at me nervously, put off by my lack of response. "So yeah..."

"I'm not mad," I assure her shortly, hands gripped tightly in my lap.

Her eyes fall to my lap before returning to the front. "Well your seat belt says differently."

My hands flex but refuse to unclench. I know I should meet her gaze to reassure her, but I'm too afraid to look towards her, not when I know I'll be able to see out her window. She doesn't realize how miraculous it is that she even got me into her car. I think she attributed my nervousness to my dad finding out about us. I tried telling her I am just as excited and happy as she is, but the quiver in my voice did nothing to convince her.

"Sorry." Just lift your eyes a little, just to meet her worried eyes. The sooner you do, the sooner she'll go back to watching the road. "I just..." I finally get my brain to send the impulse to my eyes, flicking my gaze to her. "I don't like riding in cars. Driving I can handle, I just – I like being able to control the car...you know?"

I watch her watch me, my eyes refusing to fall back down to my lap so I can gauge her response, see if she's diagnosing me with the craziness I know I have. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

Oh yes, because telling you I might be having prophetic dreams of my demise is definitely good for a beginning relationship. "I didn't want to upset you." I shrug. "Or make you think I'm as crazy as I seem."

She gives a small laugh, tapping her fingers lightly on the steering wheel in a move that fascinates me. "I already know you're crazy. I figured that out even before the soup can hit you on the head in the grocery store and you passed out."

My cheeks flush and I bite the inside of my lip, looking away from her. "I'm so glad you don't bring that up every opportunity."

Her teeth flash in a bright, pleased smile. "Aw come on," she coos affectionately, "think of this great story this is to tell people about how we met. Totally romantic."

I think back to the picture still burned in my mind of our engagement rings and I can't help but smile goofily. I can easily picture us relaying the story to our family and friends, both of us laughing happily in remembrance. The warmth that fills me is intoxicating.

"Yeah," I agree happily, "definitely." In a bold move, my left hand spans across the console and grabs her free hand, interlocking them despite my reservations about her using both hands to drive. I can't help but feel that if this is the moment when the car collides with ours, it would be the way I'd like to go.

* * *

"You know, you spend a lot of time asleep...dreaming of her. Should I be jealous?"

I roll my eyes as I turn to look at Ashley. "Completely."

"I want to tell you...about what I said before...about you going back to her? Well, I'll wait for you. I don't know if anything is going to change Spencer, and if it does, I don't know how long it will take. But I'll wait for you. Because as helpless as I feel, I know that's the one thing I _can_ do for you." She takes my hand in both of hers, dropping her head to press a soft kiss against it.

I stare at her bent head, urging her with my eyes to look at me, sighing when she refuses. "You're doing everything for me, Ash. Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough." My free hand rests on top of hers, attempting to squeeze reassuringly, though the gesture is as futile as my words at comforting her.

Ashley raises her head, but only to lean forward and press a kiss to my forehead, lips trembling as she holds them there in a lingering caress. Her palm cups my cheek, its warmth contrasting with the coldness of her engagement ring. "I just want you to come back," she whimpers out pathetically, her normal chocolate eyes tinged with a red sorrow reflected easily in her tears.

Tears flow down my own cheek, a mixture of hurt and confusion. "I'm right here." I lift my lips to hers in a weak kiss. When she fails to respond, I tear my lips away in anger, tears now streaming. "I'm_ right here!_" I scream loudly, chest heaving as my heart thuds loudly.

She just continues to look at me sadly, seemingly unfazed by my outburst. All I can do is stare at her, so many questions running through my mind; like why is she fading? Why is everything suddenly fuzzy and humming and numb and surreal?

And as my mouth opens quickly, a last question echoes in my brain.

Why can't I scream?

* * *

I sit up in a rush, disgusted by the sweaty shirt and hair I feel clinging to my body. I open my mouth and scream as loud as I can, feeling sick pleasure as it painfully vibrates against my ear drums. Their getting worse, my dreams. It almost makes me laugh to think how a few months ago I was stressing out over my dreams of being engaged to Ashley, when now, I'd give anything not to suffer through these nightmares.

As a kid I used to try to imagine what it would be like to be invisible. With my latest dreams, I know it's nothing even close to innocent - if not a little mischievous- fun. Now I try to imagine what a dreamless night would be like. How a day devoid of mental countdowns could possibly exist.

My body moves itself into my shower, my hands robotically turning on the water as I remove my drenched night clothes. I barely flinch from the harsh temperature or the rough treatment I put myself through as I scrub my skin hard enough to erase potential signs of track marks, humming loudly to overwhelm any beeping that might be occuring.

It's with a heavy, defeated sigh that I throw myself into Ashley's arms as she opens her apartment door, her warm greeting immediately washed away by concern. "Baby, what's wrong?" she asks me so tenderly, my breath and sobs hitching at the endearment she's used. Noting with a joyful sorrow it's the first time she's called me that.

With my arms wrapped securely around her, knowing she's not moving anytime soon, I lean more into her. "I don't want to go," I say over and over again, my words getting less lucid each repeat.

"Go?" she says confused. "Go where? Spencer, you're scaring me."

I shake in her arms for a while, occasional sniffs being the only sound as I finally compose myself enough to tell her what's been plaguing me for far too long. As I tell her, my gaze stays locked on the coffee table in front of me, staring at the pattern of the glazed wood as words fly out of my mouth helplessly.

Ashley shifts closer to me during my confession, silent except for sharp breaths; something I'm grateful for. I'm barely getting through it, but I know if she interrupts me, I won't have the strength to do it again.

"I'm going crazy," I confess softly. I lift my head to meet her eyes. "I don't know why...I just know that I am."

"But...I mean, how..." She looks at me carefully, obviously wanting to say something as delicately as she can but not sure how. Her hands nervously pluck at a stray strand on the couch. "How can you be sure?"

My lips curl in a bitter smile as I reach down and grab her hand. "Because all of this has come true."

"Not all of it," she mutters. I watch her eyes drop to our hands before looking at me, pointedly. "Not all of it is true," she says again."

"It's only a matter of time." I hate how morbid I sound, even more so as it comes out nonchalantly. Like my death is nothing of consequence.

"Exactly."

I turn to look at her, incredulous. While I might openly speak about it, I didn't expect or want her to. "What?"

She shifts her body to me and presses her knee to mine. "You said your dream about us meeting came true, and some of the other ones did too. But you also dreamt of us being engaged...so...doesn't that mean that will happen too?" She looks away shyly, biting her bottom lip as a beautiful blush colors her tan cheeks.

I swallow heavily, as if I'm ingesting the weight of each word she's said. "I...I guess. I mean...maybe? I don't know."

But she's just opened a whole new door, one I'd forgotten was even there, and thrust us through it. My dreams give me no sense of a time line, which is as frustrating as it is scary. Because as aware as I am of my impending car crash, I don't know when it is going to happen. I just know that it will happen.

"And...and how do you know the – you know – doesn't happen much later. That we have don't years of happiness." Ashley carries on, despite our nervousness, and I can't help but fall for her even more, because while I was only focusing on the doom, she brought my attention to probably the one thing that could triumph that.

Our engagement.

Suddenly my hand in hers is clammy and my heart beat is tripling. I want to pull it out of her grasp. I want to breathe so that my lungs will stop feeling like they're closing up. I want to stand up and run out as fast as I can. I want to wrap myself so tight around her that I can't distinguish who's who.

"God," I breathe out reverently as I press a heated kiss to her mouth. "You're just so perfect."

"Dream you obviously thinks so," she quips between kisses, her lips twitching in a quick smile before she brings them back to mine firmly.

Our mouths meet softly, despite the passion of our kiss, and the intimacy fills me with a slow burn in my stomach, one that's quickly spreading throughout the rest of my body as I do everything I can to press into her. My hands frame her cheek, holding her to my kiss as breathless words and pants of air are exchanged between our hot mouths and tongues.

"I think you probably asked me." I moan halfway through my teasing as she peppers wet kisses down my neck.

"I think you probably said yes before I could even finish." Ashley nuzzles her nose into my neck, inhaling sharply, feeling my shoulders shake in laughter.

The ache of arousal fills my entire body, mixing with antsy giddiness from our flirting. "I think you probably did this to persuade me."

I can feel her smile against my neck. "I think you probably begged me to do it."

"I think you probably looked amazing in your dress." I sit back and stare at her, suddenly becoming serious.

She shifts with me, blinking slowly as her hand traces my cheek. "I think you probably looked even better," she says softly.

I lean towards her again, pressing a soft kiss on her lips, keeping her lips on mine for beautiful minutes as we share so much more than air. "I think I love you."

We both freeze at my words, and I can feel my eyes widening, just like hers are. My mouth opens and closes several times, unable to add anything, or even to take back my words. Not because I didn't mean them, but because I meant them so much, that I should have held them in a little longer so I didn't overwhelm both of us with their intensity.

Ashley blinks heavily. Breathes unsteadily. Kisses me reverentially. "God do I love you too." Loves me so completely.

* * *

As she presses her warm body onto my own naked one and slides her hand tenderly down my stomach, entering me with so warmth and caring, I think nothing of head lights and broken windows; only of blinding white lights of passion and broken sighs of her name. She strokes me with a warmth and strength I've never known, and I fully expect to feel tears running down my cheek from the beauty of it all.

My body clenches around her fingers in euphoric bliss, and I arch into her hand, her kiss, her entire being. And as my eyes flutter close and I drift to sleep, I know I'm truly becoming awake.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Woo this chapter was hard to write, mainly because of all the jumping around it does. Basically it's organized chaos...or so I hope it's organized. Anyway, as you'll be able to tell by the end of this chapter, this story is wrapping up, hopefully by next chapter. I'm trying not to drag it out, but I want to tie up certain loose ends without expanding it by ten chapters. This being said, hopefully you like the...skips? I know it's hard to keep up, but that's kind of the point. Anyway, I hope it's not too unbearable to keep up with. Thanks again to my awesome readers, reviewers especially. I'll try and do some FoF for the last chapter, but since I'm also trying to work on a Glee story, I offer no promises. Happy reading.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

I sigh in awe as I look at the beautiful jewelry on display, running my fingers over the glass and ignoring the disapproving look from the saleswoman. My gaze flickers from the rings to my hand, eyes squinting as I try to imagine one on my finger while picturing another one for Ashley.

Each associate has approached me, asking me if I need assistance, only to be frustrated as I inform each of them that I am really just looking. I'm not even sure why I'm looking. I just know I couldn't ignore the magnetic pull I felt as I tried to walk by the store.

I examine the rings and then close my eyes, imagining Ashley's hand gently grabbing mine as she drops to her knees, eyes shining radiantly. It's a strange feeling, focusing on the future. Feeling as if I might actually have a future. Finally having something positive to live for.

It's with a lot of force that I tear myself away from the rings, putting metaphorical blinders on as I walk out into the parking lot. My phone vibrates in my pocket before my ring tone sounds, telling me that Ashley is calling. I know it's a bit lame of me to have a special ring for her, but it makes me happy, knowing that she's set apart from every one else, letting me know she's calling without looking at the caller ID.

I smile as we hang up, just the same as I did when I first picked up the phone. It could be that the 'bye baby' she ended with, but I'm pretty sure it's just her in general. I don't even care that she called to inform me that we _will_ be attending dinner at my house; not even knowing that this is when we are officially introducing ourselves is a couple, though my dad's known for a while.

The smile on my face fades as I read the text message from my mom, asking me to pick up a loaf of bread. It's really not that inconvenient, but it annoys me all the same. Ashley often lectures me about my attitude towards my mom, and though we've never had a huge fight about it, we both know it's a sensitive subject. Mainly because I really have no legitimate reason why I don't get along with my mom, making me defensive, and Ashley has no relationship with her mom, making her extra pushy when it comes to Paula's and my relationship.

So when we arrive at my parent's house, carrying the loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, and my mom tells me that she remembered that she found some more bread, I inhale deeply and clench my teeth together, annoyed that I already know how tonight is going to go.

"That's okay," Ashley assures Paula, though I know it's for my benefit, "one of us can always take it home." She then steps forward and hugs my mom.

I walk past them, calling out for my dad, ignoring the disapproving look I know Ashley is sending my way. I know it's immature of me, but I also feel like I'm not the only one responsible. My mom gives me a small smile and touches my shoulder softly, though whether it's a greeting or peace offering, I don't know.

"Dinner's ready girls!" My dad calls out from the kitchen, and I smile when I see him peek out and wave a spatula at us both, wearing one of my mom's Christmas aprons.

"Hey Arthur," Ashley greets warmly, walking over to him and smiling broadly as he kisses her cheek. The affection in that gesture flows right through me, and as soon as they release each other, I'm by his side, wrapping my arms around him tightly. I do my best to pretend not to notice Paula watching us.

Dad says the blessing as always, and I squeeze Ashley's hand when he mentions her in the prayer, cracking an eye open to see if she's looking at me too. She is.

The sound of silverware clinking against the plates is the only sound, all of us involved in our eating. I try to hide my smile behind my wine glass when Ashley rubs a foot up my leg, tracing my shin and calf muscle. I watch her brown eyes light up playfully as she does her best to look innocent.

"So have you had any more dreams?" Paula asks me, breaking the tranquility of dinner. I don't know if Ashley's foot is still on my leg. My entire body has just numbed up.

I tell myself to relax. "Yes."

"Have you figured anything else out?" I know she's just trying to make conversation, to have semblance of importance of my life, but her attempt is not welcomed; neither of them.

"No."

"Spencer," my dad scolds, acting as mediator. He normally avoids stepping in between mom and me, and I don't appreciate his intervention.

"What?" I say in annoyance. "I don't want to talk about it. I thought I made it obvious."

Paula shifts in her seat, her familiar blue eyes pleading with me. "I'm just concerned. You left so abruptly after our last talk about it."

"And now you know why. I don't. Want. To talk. About it."

"Have more of them come true?" She ignores my demand, the therapist in her coming out.

"Stop it." I breath out harshly, narrowing my eyes at her.

I don't care that Ashley's witnessing all this. I don't care that I sound like an absolute, heartless bitch. I just don't care.

"So they have?"

I slam my silverware down, standing up quickly. "I said stop it!" I'm breathing heavily, chest rising and falling quickly as anger seeps out with every beat.

"Spencer." My dad stands up as well, shooting an apologetic look at Ashley.

I look at Ashley. "We're leaving."

I sigh gratefully when she nods, standing up and apologizing softly to my parents. She grabs our purses, taking my hand and leading me out to her car. Wordlessly she opens my door, pressing a warm kiss to my forehead before ushering me in.

We sit in silence as she puts the car into gear. My hands shake in my lap but I ignore them, staring into the darkness lit by her high beams. I feel bad for my rage, and the consequential silence it's caused, but I'm thankful Ashley knows better than to say anything about it.

My phone lights up, and I huff an angry laugh as I see Paula sent me a text message. I lock my phone with out reading it, a sadistic smile on my face. I already know it's a lame apology, one that will somehow twist around to blame me, saying that she was just trying to talk to me.

I'm not surprised when Ashley's iPhone lights up, displaying the same notification. She smiles guiltily at me and slides her finger across the screen to read the message. I watch her reaction as she reads it, waiting for her to tell me how Paula really is sorry and wants us to come back to dinner.

She never gets the chance.

I see the headlights coming from the corner of my eye and I feel the scream rising up my throat, combated by the bile quickly coming up. I watch in horrified slow motion as Ashley's eyes widen and her mouth tears open, a sight that, in any other circumstance, would probably be absolutely hilarious.

"Spencer!" she screams frantically, gaze flickering between the road and me helplessly.

I swallow as best as I can and squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as they will go, until even the headlights are blacked out. And I wait, for ten agonizing long seconds, morbidly able to count each second as though it were an hour.

Then I wait no more, as the oncoming car smashes into my side, and I see the sickening sight of the other driver as his head slams into his steering wheel, the contents of my stomach expelling from my mouth just before everything fades away, leaving me with Ashley's voice echoing in my ear.

* * *

"Are we really watching this again?" Ashley snatches her hand out to grab the remote, smiling playfully as I hit her with a pillow.

"_This_ is a classic," I tell her in a superior tone. I hold the remote in the hand furthest from her, my right hand clasped around the pillow.

"Since when did _Scooby Doo Meets the Harlem Globetrotters_ become a classic?"

I tap the remote to her nose, quickly pulling it away from her grasping hand. "Shun the non-believer. You shall not disrespect good quality TV like that."

"I'd rather watch your mom's soap opera's." She nods to the DVD box set my mom sent us last Christmas.

"I still don't know whether it was a gag gift or she really thinks we like to pollute our mind with such garbage." Neither of us had the heart to tell her differently. We both just make sure to dust it off before she comes over to visit.

Ashley looks toward the DVDs thoughtfully. "Knowing Paula, she probably was being sincere. And, knowing Arthur, he was the one who suggested it." She looks at me and we both laugh, because that's probably exactly what happened. It's heartening to realize that no matter how old my dad is, he's always a young boy at heart.

I turn back to the TV, smiling when Ashley presses a soft kiss to my neck. It falls when she presses a second, lingering kiss to the same spot, teeth gently scraping across the skin. "Ash," I moan softly, my voice a low warning.

"Hmm?" she murmurs into my skin, trailing her kiss to my ear, biting it just as tenderly as she did my neck. I can hear the blood pounding in my head as my breathing picks up.

"Ash," I say again, pushing her lightly. She sits up with a dramatic groan and looks at me. "Not in front of Scooby."

She laughs and leans back into me, quickly straddling me. "I'd fuck you good," she breathes out. "If it weren't for those meddling kids."

Air escapes me, a cross between a soft laugh and a desperate moan. I reach for the remote, intending to turn it off, but Ashley's hand pulls it away from me. I raise my eyebrows in question.

"No," she husks into my ear. "Let them learn a few things."

I give in to her low voice, dropping my hands to her hips as I lift her shirt up. "See, told you_ Scooby Doo_ was a classic."

Ashley just smiles and kisses me.

* * *

The door opens, and I watch as Paula walks in. Her eyes soften as she sees me, and I swear she looks like she's about to cry.

"Mom?"

"Hey sweetie," she says quietly, her voice quivering, and I know for sure that she's crying.

She walks towards me and pulls a chair up to my bed. Her hand lifts and hesitates for a moment, her blue eyes watching my hand before she picks hers up and places it on mine. I'm startled, by her cold hands and the gesture.

"I just wanted to come by and say hey." She sniffs loudly. "I've missed you, Spencer. I know I wasn't always the best mother...well most of the time. But...but I love you sweetheart, so much. We all do."

I stare at her in confusion. This is the one and only heartfelt conversation my mother and I have ever had, and I wonder what's brought it about. We fight all the time; that's just our relationship. And why does she miss me? Sure, I ignore her calls most of the time, but, again, that's just how we work.

"And I know you love me too, and I know you're too stubborn to say it. You get that from me." She gives a pitiful laugh, broken up by her sob. "I'm so sorry. I just never knew how to talk to you. I was so focused on trying to make you happy, that I forgot to let you do it on your own. And by then it was too late, and I was left trying to play catch up with a relationship we never had."

Tears form behind my own eyes, and for once I don't try to blink them away. Instead I look into her eyes, offering a watery smile. "I love you too. Mom."

It's the first time I've called her that with pure love, and I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of me, allowing me to move easily. It's with this new freedom that my hand squeezes her back, offering an apology of my own.

Mom snaps her hand back, jumping out of the chair and staring at me. Her hand slowly makes it's way back to mine and squeezes again, watching my hand intently. I squeeze her hand again, wondering why she's acting so strange.

"Oh my god!" she exclaims breathlessly, jumping back again and looking around the room. "Arthur. ARTHUR!" she yells excitedly, looking between me and the door. "Arthur!"

My dad bursts in the room, clothes rumpled and hair a mess, like he hasn't slept in weeks. I think about making a comment to him about it.

"Arthur she...oh god Arthur, she-"

His rushes over to her and holds her tight, but as soon as he hears her words, he makes his way to me, looking down at me intently.

"Spencer..." he says softly, like he can't believe that it's me.

I move to sit up, to roll my eyes at his strange behavior, but I'm unable to do so; an invisible weight holding me down. And then I feel that weight shift, covering my eyes and chest as it forces me to breathe deeply and close my eyes.

When I open my eyes again, my mother and father are gone, and I wonder if they ever were there in the first place. My body feels like it weighs two tons, and it takes all of my strength to lift my arms in a stretch.

Movement in dark room catches me eye, and I smile warmly when I recognize the person, a warm feeling creeping in despite the strangeness all around.

"Ash," I say fondly. My face scrunches in question at my hoarse voice, and I clear my throat of the unknown obstruction.

The noise causes Ashley to turn towards me sharply, rushing over to me and tripping over herself. I watch her eyes flick behind me, and it's only after I follow her line of sight that I take in the strange machines in the even stranger room. I realize that the faint beeping I heard was not, in fact, my alarm clock, but something much more frighteningly real.

And despite Ashley's presence beside me, I panic, thrashing in the bed and making weak noises of desperation. Frantically my eyes flitter around the room, widening when I see the machine hooked up to me. I'm no doctor, but I can recognize an IV machine and know even without looking that the tube dangling from it is hooked into my bloodstream.

My breathing quickens, and I hear the monitor speed up as well, the beeps a blur of noise to compete with my heart rate. I watch Ashley stare at the machine helplessly for a moment before she presses some button and screams for a nurse.

Her panic makes mine worsen, and I call her name to get her attention, knowing that it's useless with all the other noises echoing in the white room. "Ashley," I croak out again. Tears fall down my face, an outward display of confusion and desperation.

She finally turns towards me, and when our eyes meet, I watch her body slide down the wall and hit the floor, her eyes on me the whole time. She recovers quickly, clumsily shooting off the ground to stand next to me, tears in her brown eyes as a smile combats with it.

"Spencer." Her hand squeezes mine as she leans down to press her face against mine. "Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," she repeats, happily, brokenly; a beautiful combination.

Hands frame my face, and she presses a soft kiss against my lips as her tears drop from her cheeks to my own. "God I thought I lost you," she breathes out, hands never idle as they trace my face, memorizing each plane.

The smile on my face fades as I look once again around the room and then back to myself. "What happened?"

Her smiles drops as well as a dark, sad look takes over her beautiful face. "You don't remember?"

I shake my head. My throat is already hurting from the little talking I've done. I watch in fascination as Ashley looks away from me, though her hands trace the inside of my wrist. "There was a car accident."

Despite the vague answer, I feel a gasp escape me. I can fill in the missing pieces, but I want details, not caring how morbid it seems. I need to know.

I need to know why; why I'm in the hospital room, why I had all those strange dreams...just why. And maybe, after the why, I can figure out what they meant – if anything.

Ashley tilts her head back and sighs. "Does it have to be now? It's just...I just got you back, and I'm actually supposed to have called the nurse – about ten minutes ago – and, and this is all just overwhelming – I'm sure for you, too- and I...you need to rest but I'm worried you won't wake up again and God-" she releases a loud sob, one of her hands covering her mouth quickly. "I just can't right now...not when there's too much that is uncertain." She leans down and presses a lingering kiss to my lips. "I'm sorry."

I just stare at her, my mind going to fast trying to comprehend all of what she's said, but I know none of it is sinking in. So I just nod, unable to do much of anything else but stare as she calls for the nurse, exiting quickly as nurse and doctor walk in, but not before mouthing another apology.

And when the doctor steps up to me with a friendly smile, and offers a "Welcome back, Ms. Carlin," I can't help but think things were better when I was asleep, because at least then I had Ashley.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: I am so beyond sorry for how long this took. I've just been completely unmotivated and 100% distracted by the wonderful writers on this site. I know it's probably less than what you were hoping for, but I do like the ending. I hope it meets expectations, but if it doesn't I apologize, and I thank you for sticking with me - and this story - for as long as you have. __Yes, it's shorter than normal, but I could spend another 40 chapters on Spencer's time in the hospital, and I'd prefer not to drag it out or act like I actually know medical things._

_Thank you to all my wonderful readers and, more importantly, my reviewers. You guys give me praise far beyond what I deserve, and I'll be forever grateful.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 17**

Though I haven't been awake that long, the noise from the monitor is actually some what soothing to me. Maybe because, after Ashley's departure, it's the one constant thing I have. My eyes stare at the door, as if expecting her to walk back in, though I know she won't. The doctor is all smiles and encouraging words, and had my ears not been buzzing slightly, and had I cared about something other than seeing Ashley again, I'd probably be listening.

I catch certain words every now and then, like how I'm such a fighter, a miracle, really, after being out for so long. I just want to tell him that I'm annoyed and ready to be out of this damned bed, considering I've been in it for months. My muscles feel tense, any movement I make seems awkward, like I'm in some one else's body, trying to figure out how to operate everything.

When my third attempt to fully sit up fails, and both the doctor and the nurse seem incapable of realizing what I'm trying to do, I flop back onto the bed – that feels like a brick, and I wonder how any one could sleep on this, coma or no coma. I allow my eyes to close again, hoping that when I reopen them, Ashley will once more be in the room.

No such luck. In fact, all I've managed to do is -finally- alert the nurse. She rushes over to me, making a fuss over checking my vitals, firing off questions that I wouldn't be able to answer being fully cognitive, let alone being vegetative for so long. I do my best to nod, mostly so she'll leave me alone and stop smiling at me with that pitying look.

As I glance over at the door, she follows my gaze and pats hand fondly. "Would you like me to go get Ashley?"

I probably should be surprised that she knows Ashley's name, but when I think of how present I'd be if Ashley were in my position, I know it's no shock at all. Instead, I do my best to give a subdued smile. At least she's finally being good for something.

Ashley pokes her head in the doorway, and despite the seriousness of, well everything, I find myself laughing at the picture she makes. Maybe it's the hesitant way she walks into the room, watching me carefully as if I might suddenly leap out of the bed and attack her. If only she knew how much I wish I could do that.

I finally get tired of watching her slowly make her way across the room. "You know, if you actually walked at a normal rate, you could be here in two steps, instead of two days."

She smiles sheepishly, and then stops and takes a big hop to the bed, smile widening as her eyes light up with childlike glee. I find myself inhaling sharply at the beautiful picture, and I can't help fall in love all over again. As if she reads my thoughts, Ashley's brown eyes soften and she leans down and kisses me tenderly on the lips, a message displaying her love and apology.

When we part, I'm surprised to notice that the doctor and nurse have stayed in my room, seemingly unperturbed by the kiss. Then I remember it's real life, not an episode of _Grey's Anatomy_, and that the emotion we show is completely understandable. If not more than a little hot – as Ashley just whispered in my ear.

I feel strong hands move underneath my back, pushing me up, and I give Ashley a grateful smile for instinctively knowing what I need. I laugh when I realize how true that is for everything in our relationship. And I wonder if, after months of being separated from her physically, I invaded her thoughts in her waking moments, just as she invaded my unconscious ones.

Ashley looks down at me lovingly, and I have no doubt that I was on her mind all the time, too.

* * *

Finally, after a few more days in the hospital being under what felt like constant surveillance – which I called being babysat – I'm allowed to go home. The only problem being, I don't know where that is. I don't think I could humble myself enough to ask them at the desk in the lobby, not without them admitting me back in the hospital, this time in the psych ward.

My parents' smiling faces greet me as I make my way past the nurse's station on my floor, and I watch with amusement as my mom practically throws a bouquet of flowers on the floor and runs to my side, squeezing me tightly. I can hear my dad's soft chuckle as I watch with blurry eyes as he picks up the discarded flowers, and it's some astonishment that I realize I'm crying. My shock grows as I recognize them as happy tears, and caused by my mother holding me.

Whispered 'I love you's' are spoken into my hair, and I progress to full on blubbering as my father's strong arms complete the embrace, and I wonder why it takes something like this to make us feel like a family again. But as I watch Glen and Ashley walk up and join in on the hug, I find that I don't care what brought us here, because when you have moments like this, what brought you here doesn't seem all that important.

Glen is the first to let go, and we all laugh at his inappropriate comment of not wanting to be in the same car as me. We laugh louder as my mom smacks him hard on the arm for taking the bouquet meant for me and using it to chat up a nurse on duty. I stop laughing when I realize that I called my mother mom, because, suddenly, that's what she is. Because I realize that months ago, I almost had my last chance at her being that, and I don't want to lose that.

We all walk to the parking garage, separating with promises of meeting up for lunch. I get strong hugs from my family as they watch me get into Ashley's car. I don't think they understand just how scared I am and just how much it means that they gave me their comfort. I turn and look at Ashley, and I know she's just as scared, if not more, to have my life in her hands again.

"God Spencer, I promise it'll be okay." Her hand latches on to mine firmly.

It's after this that I understand how much guilt Ashley has been under all these months, and I know it's up to me to release her. "It's not your fault, Ash."

She lowers her head, sniffling heavily as she looks back at me. "How can you say that? Of course it was my fault. God, when I saw the car coming I just- I just fucking froze!" Her hand suddenly punches the steering wheel.

I wince, not at her cursing, but at the memory that still feels like it happened yesterday instead of months ago. At the IV hole that I can still see in my arm. "I've never blamed you." And I haven't. I may have only been awake for a short time, but that thought never once entered my mind.

"Then it's because you're too beautiful of a person to, not because of anything I did. Not a minute went by when I didn't feel sick about what happened." Her eyes bore into mine intently. "I couldn't decide between feeling so guilty and angry about the crash or feeling so sad and lonely that I could see you and not get to you." She runs a hand through her hair. "And then I'd feel even more terrible, because I couldn't imagine what you were going through. Being stuck, all alone, and scared and, just...just that I was so selfish."

I take my hands and hold her cheeks, making her eyes lock with mine. "But I wasn't alone." I pull her lips to mine and kiss her softly. "Even when I wasn't awake I saw you. You visited me every day that went by in my mind. So I wasn't lonely," I smile at her. "if I wanted to see you, all I had to do was dream."

Her gentle laugh flows into my mouth as we kiss, and I feel my whole body sigh into her as she wraps her arms around me. "Me too, Spencer. Every night."

My phone vibrates, and I roll my eyes when I read the text from Glen, telling me we can have sex later. "Glen says for us to come on."

"Really?" She raises her eyebrows. "That's not what mine says." She holds up her phone, revealing the same message.

"Okay, so I gave the _CliffNotes_ version. Come on, I haven't eat in like five months, I'm a little hungry."

Ashley rolls her eyes at me. "You can only play that card for so long."

"I know, that's why I'm using up all the mileage now." I smile as she kisses me sweetly on my forehead.

"Oh, that reminds me!" She says suddenly, hand diving into her seemingly bottomless purse. I watch with interest as she digs around in it, shuffling various items aside as she searches frantically. "Aha!"

"What is it?" I say excitedly. I can't help it, her excitement is contagious, especially with the way she's hiding it in her hand.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Ashhh," I groan, not in the mood for her coyness.

Her face turns serious. "I love you, Spencer."

I smile back. "I love you, too."

Her hand opens and I gasp as she holds out a beautiful ring. "They managed to get it off before they'd have to cut it off at the hospital."

I can't even speak, I'm so overcome with...everything. I find myself nodding tearfully, holding my hand out.

"I figured you'd want me to keep it until you woke up."

Again I nod, overwhelmed with her thoughtfulness, with her faith in me. Her love.

And she takes my ring and slips it on my finger, sliding it back into its rightful resting place, and I realize that I don't need to ask where my home is.

I already know it's right here with Ashley.

_**-Fin-**_


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